


Book One - The Last Dovahkiin

by Archesa



Series: The Dragon and the Bear [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First tome out of four, Gen, Half-elven Dovahkiin, Spellsword Dragonborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archesa/pseuds/Archesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Legends don't burn down villages..."<br/>Her soul shuddered at the sound of his Voice, like thunder on a mountain. It was the first time she ever heard him, yet as she rose from her ashes through the flames devouring Helgen, Eliana knew her fate was forever bound to his : she would either die by his hand, or in his arms.<br/>When the legends meet, when the World Eater wakes and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - A life so sweet

> _"Legends don't burn down villages!"_
> 
> _It was the first time I ever heard his voice. But at this exact moment, I somehow knew my fate was forever bound to his. I would either die by his hand or in his arms._

* * *

The first rays of sunlight beaming through the windows woke me up. I turned around, laying a loving gaze upon my husband, still asleep by my side and smiled. I stroked his long golden leonine mane of hair and kissed his forehead. My beloved stirred but did not wake.

I had been reliving our first encounter every night for the last week or so. The fear and anguish I had felt facing Imperials, facing Elenwen, facing the headman's ax... it had all melted away. Only remained images of the man sitting next to me in the carriage, gagged and hands-tied, of the man who stayed behind to help wounded soldiers while I was to escape with Ralof, of the man I didn't know then but I would marry one day.

"Could you please stop starring at me while I sleep..."

His voice low and husky from sleepiness made my heart jump in my chest.

"Why should I?", I whispered with a smile.

He smiled back and opened his arms for me. I laid against him, enjoying his presence, his warmth, his scent. Hugging him tight, I drifted back to sleep.

Throught blood and battle, tears and dirt, rage and flames, I had come to this day...  
I was Eliana Evergreen Stormcloak, Dovahkiin and new High-Queen of Skyrim. And this is how my legend ends... and my life finally begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little prologue - which is actually a flash forward.  
> As you will see, only the Prologue and most likely the Epilogue are writen in First Person PoV, the rest of the story will alternate between characters PoV but told in third person.  
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and welcome aboard a long adventure through the vast land of Skyrim!


	2. Unbound

_ **Unbound - 17** _ _ **th** _ _ **of Last Seed - 4 E 201 - Helgen** _

A cold mist enveloped the surroundings of the carriage. The red-haired girl struggled to crack her eyes open, a throbbing white-hot pain on the back of her head suddenly bringing back memories of the past few days. Pain and panic overwhelming her, she looked frantically around her. The air was wet and bitting. The only trees around were high pines breaking the bleak monotony of the snowy road. She realized with horror she was back in Falkreath hold.

"Hey you!"

She turned her gaze towards the blond soldier in blue uniform sitting in front of her.

"Thought you'd never come by. It's been almost three hours since they got you on our little trip. How did you end up there?", the young man asked. "Wrong place at the wrong time, eh.", he stated more than he asked. "Ended up in good care of the Empire... Same as us… and that thief over there.", he added turning his head to the man on his left.

"Damn stormcloaks!", the so designated thief cursed. "Skyrim was fine until you came along! The Empire was nice and lazy… If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and be half way to Hammerfell!"

Eliana felt her consciousness fade. Exhausted, she laid her head in her palms, her fingers rubbing on her temples, trying to use restoration magic to stop her headache, but the ties around her wrists kept her from gathering any magicka.

"You there!"

She straightened, realizing the thief was now talking to her.

"You and I, we shouldn't be here! It's these stormcloaks the Empire wants!", he spat.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief!", the stormcloak soldier sighed.

"Shut up back there!"

The young girl gave the imperial soldier who drove the carriage a nasty look and returned to her  conversation  with the other prisoners.

Right next to her was a man in his late forties, dressed in fine clothing, gagged and hands-tied. Eliana couldn't help but stare. His ageless grey eyes met hers, burning like hot metal and as deadly and cold as an ice wraith; it felt like a steel sword had pierced into her soul. She fought not to blink. To her, he looked like an old sabre-cat: noble and dangerous, calm, calculating but his eyes burning with a quiet, concealed rage. It was hard not to be fascinated by him, but she wondered what could draw  _his_ eyes to her.

Her features reminded him of Breton women but something didn't quite fit. She was tall, too tall to belong to the people of High-rock, yet her skin bore the unmistakable golden glow of those who had elven blood running in their veins and her almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones most certainly confirmed this parentage… But what intrigued him the most was the deep scar running on her right cheek : the wound was recent and had been cauterized… Who - or what - ever had caused it, she would keep it for the rest of her life – but then again, a voice wryly noticed in the back of his mind, her life was most likely coming to an end today.

They just stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the thief broke the silence again.

"What's wrong with him?", he said designating the fourth prisoner.

"Watch your tongue!", the soldier spat as the nobleman suddenly stopped staring at the red-haired girl and turned an angry look towards the man facing him."You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The _true_ High-King!"

"Ulfric?", the thief gasped. "The jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. If they captured  _you_ … Oh gods!”, he swore, suddenly alarmed. “Where are they taking us?"

Eliana turned her head to her left. Not far ahead appeared the high stone walls of an Imperial fort surrounded by a small settlement : Helgen.

"I don't know where we're going…", the soldier sighed. "But Sovngarde awaits."

The thief shook his head in disbelief.

“No… This _can't_ be happening!"

Ulfric gave the sniveling thief a scolding look and turned away. The girl however straightened and laced her fingers together.

"Stendar… Kynareth… Talos… Akatosh… Divines… Help us."

Her voice was broken and husky, tears were shinning in her deep green eyes but not once did she falter.

"Stendar, Kynareth, Talos, Akatosh…"

She only prayed for these four Divines, calling softly, hope laced in her voice, wishing they would somehow hear her prayer.

"Stendar…"

_God of Mercy and Justice… I shouldn't be here… Help me._

"Kynareth…"

_Goddess of Air and Nature… All my life I worshipped you… Help me._

"Talos…"

_I never stopped believing… Help me._

"Akatosh…"

_My time has not come yet, please, please, help me._

A voice interrupted her prayers.

“Hey! What village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?”, the distraught man spat.

“A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.”, the fair soldier sighed sadly.

“R-... Rorikstead... I'm from Rorikstead.”

The stormcloak nodded then turned to the girl.

“You?”

The young woman swallowed thickly. “Falkreath.”, she replied, her voice but a whisper but a bitter resolve audible through it. “I- I used to be from Falkreath.”

Once again, the soldier nodded, then silently threw his head back, his thoughts turning to his own home, somewhere behind a snowy crest or far over the land.

"General Tullius, Sir. The headsman is waiting."

"Good!", a elder man wearing richly gilded Imperial armor responded. "Let's get this over with!"

"Stendar, Kynareth, Talos, Akatosh, Divines, help us! Stendar, Kynareth, Talos, Akatosh…"

"Look at him, General Tullius the military governor. ", the stormcloak soldier spat. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn Elves. I bet they have something to do with all this."

The girl choked on her words, silent tears suddenly streaming free down her cheeks. She did not seem to realize she was crying until she caught the eye of the jarl next to her. She bowed her head slightly, muttering an apology and tried to keep her weeping silent.

No hope remained now, safe for one… to be handed to the headsman rather than the Thalmor.

The carriage stopped in front of a tall tower where an executioner was already waiting.

"Why are we stopping?", the thief asked, panic clearly audible in his voice.

"Why do you think?", the soldier answered grimly. "End of the line. Let's go.", he added. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The young girl solemnly nodded. She wiped her tears away and followed his lead.

"Step toward to the block when we call your name! One at a time!", the imperial officer added, like if there was any chance the prisoners would happily run to the chopping block altogether.

The stormcloak soldier sighed:

"Empire loves their damn lists!"

A brown-haired Nord imperial soldier advanced and called the first name.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, jarl of Windhelm. Charged with regicide, high-treason, insurrection against the Law and the Empire. Sentenced to death."

The jarl proudly headed towards the block, his head high, not a trace of fear showing in his eyes.

"It has been an honor, jarl Ulfric.", the soldier solemnly said.

Eliana bowed her head, silently praying Talos for the soul of the rebel jarl to find the way to Sovngarde.

"Ralof of Riverwood. Charged with treason, insurrection against the Law and the Empire. Sentenced to death."

The blond soldier stepped forward. He and the imperial soldier exchanged a pained look before Ralof abruptly turned towards the block, purposely hitting the imperial captain with his shoulder in the process. Eliana could not swear it, but she thought she had seen the young soldier with the list refrain a smile.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!”, the man cried out, in dispair. “I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

"HALT!", the Imperial ordered as the thief ran past her in a last ditch effort.

"You're not going to kill me!"

"Archers!", the Captain yelled.

Three arrows took flight and hit their target with deadly accuracy. The thief fell forward, the red-feathered darts sticking out of his back.

"Anyone else feel like running?", the Imperial captain taunted.

Name after name, all the prisoners headed to the tower, patiently waiting for death.

"Eliana Evergreen of Falkreath.”

Ulfric turned his head at the mention of the name. He was familiar with all names previously called, the soldiers who were with him during the ambush, but this name was unknown to him. The red-haired girl advanced, her hands shaking, her face pale as death, but her head high and proud, and awaited judgement.

“Sentenced to death."

She wordlessly followed the trail of prisonner, her eyes once again meeting his in the crowd. Somehow, the jarl gave her courage. She had not chosen to offend the Thalmor, nor to challenge the Empire but she would not throw away the last pieces of honor she had left by begging for any mercy from people who had none. She would stand her ground proudly and die as a true daughter of Skyrim.

The Imperial General, Tullius, broke the silence.

"Ulfric Stormcloak."

The jarl turned a furious look to the elder man.

"Some here in Helgen call you a _'hero'_.”, the Imperial spat. “But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to _murder_ his king and _usurp_ his throne."

If only looks could kill… Unable to speak, the jarl grunted.

"You started this war and plunged Skyrim in the chaos. And now the Empire is going to _put you down_ and restore peace!"

A distant roar rang in the air.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing!", the General sharply cut. "Carry on!"

“Yes, General.”, the Imperial soldier nodded. “Give them their last rites.”

These simple words sounded like a death-knell, the sudden realisation that the journey was definitely over.

Ulfric laid a saddened look upon his soldiers - the men who would have followed him to Oblivion and back and whom his carelessness had lead on the doors to Sovngarde - as a priestess advanced and started preaching.

“As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth...”

"For the love of _Talos_ ”, a ginger stormcloak spat, interrupting her. “Shut up! And let's get this over with!"

"As you wish.", the priestess snapped, leaving ground for the Imperial captain to lead the prisonner towards death.

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials.”, he stated fearlessly as the officer pushed him on the block. “Can you say the same?”

The headsman's ax fell with a thud.

Eliana let out a yelp and fought hard not to dishonour him by averting her gaze away.

"As fearless in death as he was in life…"

 _'Talos be with you…'_ , the girl bowed her head and prayed.

"Next!"

Eliana felt a sudden bolt of panic rush through her veins as a soldier pushed her to the block and the Imperial captain kicked the still warm corpse out of the way for her to take its place.

Another deafening roar rang in the valley.

"Here it is again.", the Imperial soldier with the list said. "Did you hear that?"

"I said. Next. Prisoner."

The girl felt the prisonners' gaze follow her as she was forced on her knees then head on the block.

Tears were now streaming freely down her cheeks. No one would see them, after all. Her vision blurred by anguish and tears, she looked up to see the headsman position his ax over his shoulder, readying his strike. A dark shape obscured the skies above before she closed her eyes.

"WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?!"

She flashed her eyes open. The headsman could not lift his ax higher, caught in the vision of what had just landed on the edge of the tower.

"DRAGON!"

The threatening shadow spent a few seconds considering what laid below and _shouted_.

Thunder. A storm of fire and rocks raged upon Helgen. Screams and explosions filled the air as well as others thunderlike shouts that did not seem to come from the drake.

Knocked off the block by an unrelenting force, the girl saw through a blur the headsman fly back and impale himself on the axe he had readied to swoop on her neck.

"Let's go, lass!", a familiar voice rang in her hears. "The Gods won't give us another chance!"

The soldier helped her on her feet and ran to the keep.

Eliana threw a look above the shoulder to see the dragon's piercing red eyes lay on her, and the beast shout, throwing her to the ground.

Ralof slammed the door shut behind her.

"Jarl Ulfric!", the soldier called out.

Eliana looked up to the man who was already cutting the ropes around Ralof's wrists.

"What was that thing?”, the soldier breathlessly asked. “Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages.", the jarl stated calmly.

The girl felt her heart tremble at the sound of his voice, a low rumble like thunder over the mountains. The jarl seemed to study her carefully for the slightest moment, his steel grey eyes piercing through her soul, before he cut her wrists free and walked past her to tend to the wounded soldiers lying on the ground.

Outside, the dragon roared and the tower shook.

"We need to move, now!"

"This way!”, a soldier yelled, up the stairs. “Up through the tower. Let's go!"

Eliana followed his lead, the others right behind her. Stones came crumbling in the tower as a scaly ram crashed through the wall and the black red-eyed dragon shouted towards them.

" _**YOL TOOR SHUL!** _ "

Eliana jumped back, pushing Ralof and Ulfric downstairs. The dark drake flew away, leaving them under a pile of heavy stones and burning ashes.

"Are you alright, my jarl?", the girl asked concerned.

The man nodded and helped her and Ralof on their feet. The blond soldier did not lose a second and climbed back up.

"You see the inn on the other side?”, the young man asked, motioning to the flaming building down the tower. “It's our way out! Jump through the roof and keep going!", he ordered.

Eliana watched him in disbelief.

"JUST GO!", he yelled, pushing her forward. "We follow when we can!"

She nodded and smiled for the first time.

"May the Nine be with you!"

The fall was vertigineous. She broke through a hole in the straw roof and rolled on a wooden floor until a crumbled beam stopped her. The girl stood painfully and shook the ashes and ambers off her before she looked up the tower. The blond soldier readied himself to follow when a hand pulled him back inside as the dark shape of the dragon came flying over them.  
Eliana ducked out of sight, fear striking her heart as a voice deep as Oblivion and loud as thunder tore the skies apart.  
" _ **Tahrodiis joore! Hin vothaarn unslaad... Zu'u Al-Du-In! Faas bahi staadnau!**_ " ( _Traitorous mortals! Your disobedience knows no bound... I am Al-Du-In! Fear my warth unbound!_ )  
A storm of fire raged upon the courtyard and the inn, burning the remaining framework to ashes. The crumbled roof collapsed in a chaotic mess of flaming straw and burning ambers. The girl jumped downstairs and rushed toward the exit of the building, stopping near the doorframe to cast a glance outside.  
The town was in flammes. The shattered structures of buildings once standing strong and threatening detached themselves in charcoal dark beams against the blood-red sky. The inn where she found refuge seemed miraculously spared by the furnace but that wouldn't last.  
The ground trembled once more and the remaining beams cracked loudly forcing her out of her shelter.  
"Everyone, get back!"  
" _ **Niikrin Dovahkiin!**_ ", the dragon roared, " _ **Bolog aaz ahrk ag!**_ " _(Coward, Dragonborn! Beg for mercy and burn!)_  
Eliana felt a hand grab her wrist and pull her to safety behind a flamming building, out of sight as the dragon fire reduced the courtyard where she stood to ashes and molten stones.  
"Still alive, hey?", the Imperial soldier from earlier wryly noticed, letting go of her arm. "Stay close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar!", he called out to the other refugee right next to him. "Take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defenses."  
"Gods guide you Hadvar!"  
The legionnaire rushed towards the inner rampart, the girl right on his heels.  
"Stay close to the wall.", he hushed.  
The ground quaked sending the both of them against the wall as dark wings darkened the skies.

“ _ **Hin fen quilaan us suleyksejuni, meyye joore, uv hin fen ag! YOL TOOR SHUL!**_ ” _(You will submit to my dominion, foolish mortals, or you will burn!)_

Strangled screams and voices broken with undiluted panic echoed loud as the sickening smell of scorched flesh and ashes filled the air. Eliana dared a look up, to see the dark form of the drake bent over them give a faint chuckle that made his scales sharp as scythes tremble before his dark wings unfurled and it took its flight.

The Legionnaire did not lose the slightest moment and rushed up the stairs to rescue whoever could still be rescued but stopped dead before the desolation before his eyes. The outer rampart was no more than a pile of heavy rocks and burning beams crumbled on burnt carcasses. Coming from their right, seemingly hidden under the smoking remains of the gates the cart first drove them through, a group of mages clad in red and black armored robes gathered around their wounded superior and started summoning wards and fire flaming bolts at the winged destroyer looming over them.

“General Tullius, Sir!”, the young Legionnaire saluted. “What are the orders?”

“The city is lost, soldier.”, the elderly man stated. “We're leaving! Secure us a way to the keep, and don't waste time!”, he ordered, suddenly noticing the prisonner dogging his steps. The girl was to be beheaded just before the attack, the general noticed. But he couldn't afford losing a single man to gather and protect prisonners once destined to the block, nor would he waste a single arrow on her. If she managed to keep up with them and get out of this living Oblivion alive, as far as he was concerned, she'd have earned her freedom.

A deafening roar broke his train of thoughts as the dragon swept on the fort, their only escape route catching fire under his eyes.

“Look out!”, Eliana screamed, holding the Imperial back as a storm of fire raged upon them. A scorching heat and the scent of burnt flesh filled the air as a curtain of flammes surrounded them and heartbreaking cries rang above the arch where, moments before, stood three archers trying to take the beast down. Miraculously spared, the Imperial risked a glance out of their shelter and rushed through the destroyed courtyard towards the remains of the fort.

“Ralof!”, the young man suddenly called out as a familiar figure appeared through the smog, heading towards the dungeons, and drew his sword. “You damned traitor!”, he spat. “Out of my way!”

“We're escaping Hadvar.”, the stormcloak stated calmly. “And you're not stopping us, this time.”

“Fine!”, the Imperial snapped, any hateful words he had in store dying in his throat as the dark shadow of the drake hovered over them once more, forcing them against the nearby wall. “I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!”, he added, a pained look on his face before he risked his way through the courtyard to find shelter inside the main tower.

The stormcloak watched him fade in the smog before he returned his full attention to the door nearby.

“Into the keep! Quick!”

Eliana threw herself behind him inside the fort and risked one last glance behind to see the black dragon land before her companion slammed the door and the light died out.

 

_ **17** _ _ **th** _ _ **of Last Seed – Helgen Keep** _

A threatening roar, only muffled by the strong walls of the fort, shook the dust off the old stones, and the light returned.

Eliana blinked a few times to get accoustumed to the dim light of the candles, compared to the blazing brazier raging outside. Her companion was still leaning and panting against the black-iron door, holding it closed with his weight.

A few red burns and cuts marked his arms and face but he looked unharmed. The same could not be said of the girl now leaning against the wall for support. Blood and ash mared her face and torn robes and the sudden paleness of her skin made him fear for the worst.

Her breath coming out in shallow gasps, she let herself slide against a wall, her gaze following him as he roamed the room, looking for something to bar the door. A loud thud made her jump and a yelp escaped her lips, earning an apologetic smile from the young man.

“That should buy us some time.”, he stated, laying a proud look on the iron rack he used to bar the door.

The young woman absentmindedly nodded and shifted uncomfortably as the man closed the gap between them.

“Are you hurt?”, he asked, concerned.

“No, I... I just need a second to breath...”

The young man nodded and offered a hand to help her stand. “Here.”, he said, holding out a short iron sword for her to take. “Try getting used to the weight of that sword. No doubt we'll need it on our way out.”

The young woman hesitantly weighted the weapon while Ralof walked past her and tried to get one of the two grids barring the way opened.

“This one is locked.”, the soldier sighed after examinating the first gate. “And this one... Damn! There's a lever on the other side, but I can't reach it.”

“Let me try.”, Eliana proposed, passing her lean arm through the grid and reaching out for the metal bar. She could almost seize it, her fingers brushing against the cold material, but the sound of footsteps and voices coming from the end of the hallway forced her back. She and Ralof took position behind the wall and out of sight.

“Come on soldiers!”, said a voice they both recognized – the Imperial captain! “Keep moving!”

Three light armored scouts followed her.

“Get this gate open.”

The grid grinded and shrieked as it lifted from the ground. The four of them stopped abruptly as soon as they entered, immediately spotting the two blue clad intruders in the room.

“Don't let these stormcloaks get away!”, the Captain ordered, pulling out her sword and charging the nearest foe while her men aimed at Ralof.

Eliana dodged the first strike and clumsily blocked the other, but the force of the blow was enough to tear her weapon out of her grip. The sword hit the bloodied ground with a clear sound that reverberated like forever as the girl fell backwards and the Imperial readied her strike.

A wall of flamme rose between them and engulfed the Imperial Captain in a scorching storm of fire and blazing pain. The two scouts remaining turned to her cries only to see her hit the ground in a pile of ashes before the edge of an ax ended them.

Panting and bleeding, Ralof straightened and laid a dumbfounded look upon the straightening form of the girl before him.

“What in Talos' holy name was that?”, he breathed as the young woman shook some ashe off her robes

“Wizard's fire.”, she absentmindedly answered. “I feared I'd never have the strength to summon it again...”

“Mage, then.”, he huffed. “Well... to each his own. It's not for me to judge. Come. This one had the key, let's keep going.”

Eliana followed wordlessly as they went deeper in the entrails of the fort until a long corridor flanked with metal grids. The scent of rotten straw, filth and blood filled the air; the unmistakable stench of a prison.

“Do you have men in there?”, the girl risked as Ralof took a torch from the wall to get a better view of the inside of the cells.

“H've been ordered to check, though it's unlikely... For a few months, the Imperials have renounced taking prisonners.”, he explained as the young woman shot him an interrogative look. “A good stormcloak is a dead stormcloak. They have no use of living rebels in their jails except for... _interrogation_. Look.”, he spat, pointing to the corpse still clad in blue left rotting in a cage suspended to the ceiling a few steps ahead. “Here's the true face of the Legion.”, he stated coldly as Eliana looked away in dispair. “Now you understand why some say death is a kindness.”

The young woman said nothing but nodded, her face paler yet her grip on her sword firmer the farther they got inside the dungeons.

A loud crack of air broke the silence followed by muffled goans and the unmistakable scent of blood and magic.

“A torture chamber.”, Ralof breathed in horror, a burning rage audible in his voice.

A heart-breaking cry followed another crack of magic and died out in a strangled rattle, then only remained silence.

“Seems this one has nothing more to tell us.”, an elderly voice stated cruelly.

The sound of a key turning in a lock echoed loudly through the corridor and a body hit the ground with a loud thud.

“Put this one in the cart with the others.”, the hooded torturer ordered his assistant before the a crouching shadow cast on the ground coming from the corridor caught his eye.

Ralof was thrown to the ground, a thousand purple sparks running through his body before he could even turn around the corner to charge his foe.

“Looks this one's a bit upset at how I've been entertaining his friends. Bring him over here. I'd like to have a little chat with him.”

The current stopped just long enough to allow Ralof to take a breath. His eyes set on the girl still hidden in the darkness, sheer terror writen on her face, as the torturer's assistant closed up on him to drag him into the chamber. But the Imperial's hand never reached him. His head rolled on the floor to the feet of his master.

“What in-...”

A new wave of lightning hit a steadfast ward, blocking his view for the slightest moment. But this was all leverage Ralof needed to plunge his sword to the hilt in the elder man's chest.

Breathless, the soldier drew back his sword and wiped the blood on the dead man's tunic as he turned to his traveling companion.

“Thank you.”, he bowed his head respectfully.

“Don't mention it.”, the girl nodded faintly. “Let's not linger. Please.”

The stormcloak nodded and held out his hand for her to follow. “Come. They must have had a place to dispose of the corpses nearby. Maybe we'll find some way to escape through there.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter !  
> Please let me know through the comment section and stay tuned! :)


	3. Home is behind, the world ahead

_ **Home is behind, the world ahead - 17** _ _ **th** _ _ **of Last Seed - 4 E 201 - Whiterun Hold** _

The light blinded them and the world appeared, brighter and wider than it had ever been.

Eliana threw her head back and took in a deep breath of the fresh whipping wind of Skyrim, eyes wide open to take in the delightful sight before her eyes. The blue of the sky, the emerald green of the leaves and grass, the sparks of light reflecting on the surface of the water running deep in the valley and the colorful flowers on its shores.

Ralof watched her savor their restored freedom with a smile on his face until an all too familiar roar rang through the air.

"Hide!", the soldier breathed, grabbing the girl and pulling her behind a stone as a dark shadow passed over them. Their breaths stuck in their throats, they watched anxiously as the dragon's black form spread its wings over the lake and disappeared far beyond the mountain, leaving the valley in a deathly silence.

The stormcloak soldier let out a heavy sigh and released the young woman from his grip before he turned his gaze up the hill, where a cloud of black smoke rose behind a crest before the wind pushed the plume down to the south.

"Looks like we've made it, after all…”, he mused, incredulously. “Come! We'd better hurry before the whole region starts swarming with Imperials!"

Eliana nodded wordlessly and hastily followed him down the hill and into the high pine groves covering the riverbed. They treked for a moment in silence, as far as they could from the road, but close enough to keep an eye on any incoming patrol. The sun was nearing its zenith, bathing the slopes of the valley in a warm summerset light. As the sound of the river running by came louder, the vegetation around them slowly changed, from sparse pines and mountain flowers to lush grass and bushy trees, offering them a better cover the farther they ran from Helgen.

"My sister, Gerdur, owns the mill in Riverwood, just down the road.", Ralof said after a moment. “I'm sure she'll help us out. We should be able to rest there for a while, then we may go our separate ways.”

“Thank you.”, the young woman breathed.

“It's the very least I can do for you...”, the soldier smiled, taking a few moments to kneel under a tree and get a clear view of the road down the hill. “I wouldn't have made it without your help, today."

"And I, yours.", she offered in reply.

“I bet you're more resourceful than you care to admit.”, he said. “What you did to these Imperials was... impressive.”, he breathed after a moment of hesitation, surprised to see the girl give him a dumbfounded look at the use of that word. “One second, you're that frightened lass barely able to wield a sword, the next you're burning an Imperial captain back to the planes of Oblivion. I sure didn't expect that of you when I first saw you!", he added with a smile, "Never judge a book by its cover. The road seems safe...”, Ralof said after a while, risking a few steps out of the cover of the trees. “Come! There's something I'd like to show you.”

The soldier let himself slide nimbly along the slope and to the nearby road, motionning the girl to follow. Not far up the way, the cobblestone road made way for a narrow dirt path leading to a ancient stone altar. Three standing stones detached themselves against the stunning view of the valley of Lake Ilinalta.

“There are the Guardians Stones.”, Ralof said reverently. “Three of the thirteen ancient guarding stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Go ahead”, he invited. “see by yourself.”

The young woman hesitantly climbed the three steps leading to the nearest stone and recognized the intricate design dotted with the familiar shape of a constellation she often wished upon. The Mage.

The veins and carvings upon the grey stone seemed to glow brighter in the sun as she got near and when she touched the cold surface, she felt a rush of power run through her veins, her magicka replenished and flowing fiercer than ever through her very being.

“Ha! I knew you were a born mage!”, the voice of the soldier broke her train of thoughts. He climbed down his own flight of stairs – those leading to the Stone of the Warrior – and guided them both down the road once more.

"So… No hard feelings?", the young woman risked.

" 'Course not!”, the soldier exclaimed. “I'm not particularly fond of magic, to say the least… But right now I'm thanking the Gods for having you on my side rather than with these Imperial bastards! You saved my life, and I won't forget it anytime soon. You look sad…", he suddenly noticed.

"It's nothing.”, she said dismissively. “I just… I wish I had met more people like you where I come from."

"You mean _'charming and drop dead gorgeous stormcloak lieutenants'_?"

Eliana rolled her eyes and chuckled. A sound she thought she'd never make again.

"Now tell me: where did you learn magic? You don't look like one of the College of Winterhold."

"My mother was.", the girl answered. "Fire was in her blood. Everything I know about the Destruction School, I owe her. And the endless hours I spent trying to light green wood on fire!"

Ralof laughed. "So I take it you're not Nord."

"I have lived in Skyrim my whole life.”, she replied defensively. “The North is all I've ever known... But if you mean by blood, my father was a Nord."

"A Half-Nord daughter of Skyrim, then… What's your other half?"

Eliana nervously chewed her lower lip, reluctant to answer, but a howling sound in the distance saved her the trouble.

“Wolf pack!”, the soldier spat. “Move along, we mustn't linger!”

 

_ **17 th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 - Riverwood** _

They reached Riverwood in the early hours of afternoon and crossed the bridge leading to the lumber mill. Ralof had removed the blue tabard from his stormcloak uniform, hoping not to draw too much attention upon their arrival in the village. But they both looked like they had been dragged through Oblivion and back: covered in dirt, ashes and blood, their armor and clothes ripped apart, or in Eliana's case, bloodied and burned. They could only pray people would choose to ignore them and they would not unexpectedly run into imperial soldiers.

Ralof stopped, motionning to a tall blond woman carefully studying the grinding of a long band-saw against the green wood of a freshly cut trunk, a few steps ahead.

“Can the sawmill handle those logs? They look a mite big.”

“Aye, it can!”, the bearded man up the lumber mill answered, shaking the dirt off his hands as he leaned forward, with his hands on his knees to address the woman down below. “Woudn't want them any bigger though.”

“And the blade?”

“Getting dull. We'll need a new one soon.”

“I'll talk to Alvor about getting us a new one.”, the woman nodded thoughtfully before her husband's voice snapped her back to reality.

“Look over there, woman! See who's coming home, now!”

The woman turned her eyes at them, a smile enlightening her face at the sight of a loved one.

"Brother!", she exclaimed enthusiastically. "Mara's mercy, it's good to see you! But is it safe for you here?", she asked, giving her brother a brief but tight hug and a cautious glance around. "The word's spreading like wildfire : we heard that Ulfric had been captured… Are you all right?"

"I'm fine.", Ralof answered in a relieved sigh. "At least, now, I am.", he added, giving a warm smile to the girl standing right behind him.

"Who is this?", the blond woman asked, briefly considering the young woman in tattered blue mage robes. "One of your comrades?"

"Not a comrade yet, but a friend : I owe her my life. Is there somewhere we can talk?", Ralof kept going. "There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials…"

"Helgen? What happened?"

Ralof didn't utter a word but gave a worried look around.

"Right.", his sister nodded. "Follow me.", she whispered, leading them through the island, between trunks and chopping blocks to a small shed opened on the river.

"Uncle Ralof!"

Eliana stepped aside in time to see a little blond figure run past her and jump to hug Ralof, almost kicking him off balance.

"Hey! Look at you, almost a grown man!", the soldier said, smiling at his nephew. "What do you feed him?”, he smiled towards his sister.

"Can I see your ax, Uncle Ralof?", the boy asked with a wide grin. "How many Imperials have you killed with it?"

"Hush, Frodnar.", Gerdur cut, dead serious. "This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road. Come find us in you see any Imperial soldiers coming."

“Aww, Mama! I want to stay and talk with Uncle Ralof!”

“Frodnar.”, she warned with a frown.

“Listen up, laddie.”, the soldier offered, before the mother's boy would crack down. “Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself, but today I need you to do some scouting for me. Cover me up. Got the grit to get this done?", he added in a gravelly accent that did not quite seem to belong to these southern parts.

"Right! Don't worry, Uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you."

The boy ran without a look back, a tall muddy grey griffon happily barking on his tracks and disappeared up the main street as his father joined the three others on the talk.

"Now, Ralof, what's going on? You look pretty well done in."

The soldier sighed and took a seat on a log.

"I can't remember when I last slept.", he said, "Where to start… Well the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing. That was… two days ago, now."

He then told his sister and brother-in-law everything that happened ever since. How they were ambushed, south of Eastmarch, on their way to Riften, how the jarl ordered them to surrender, not wanting any more of his soldiers to die in vain, how General Tullius threw them into carts heading South, how they mistook the road they rode to lead them to Cyrodiil for a formal execution, before the Emperor.

“They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial.”, he spat. “ _Treason_ , for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then! We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman's block and ready to start chopping. But then... out of nowhere... a dragon attacked...”

“You don't mean a real, live...”

“I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there! As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?"

"Nobody else has come up the south road today, as far as I know."

"Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur but…"

"Nonesense!", the woman cut. "You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need to. Let me worry about the imperials." She turned to Eliana. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine. Come with me.", she added, giving a sorry look to the girl's clothing. "I'll see if I can get you something warm to wear."

The inside of the house was simple but cozy. The wooden walls brought a feeling of safety, the light of the candles and the warmth from the hearth almost made Eliana feel at home. She shook the thoughts of her former house from her mind, for she knew there was no possible way for her to go back.

Gerdur soon came back with a pile of cloths resting on her forearm and a bucket of water in her hands.

"Here, I noticed you're wounded.", she said motioning to the girl's blood-drenched robes. "I brought you something to bandage your arm. If you ever need help, let me know."

"Thank you.", Eliana breathed. "If there is any way I can repay you…"

"Don't mention it.", the blond woman answered. "I am warming up some stew. Would you want some?"

"Thank you, I'm starving."

Gerdur smiled and unfolded a wide wooden screen to give her guest some privacy before she headed back to the main hall.

Eliana removed her torn robes slowly, careful not to open her wounds again, but most of them had healed on spot... her captors had seen to it... made sure she would live to endure her whole ordeal. Hence, the only cut left bleeding was the one she received from the imperial captain back in Helgen keep. A warm wave of healing light stopped the bleeding but she was still too weak to seal the wound completely. She cleaned up her forearm thouroughly scrubing the ash, dirt and dried blood off her skin and bandaged it before she got dressed.

"I feared it wouldn't fit.", Gerdur stated when Eliana came back, warmly clad in the green and white tunic the blond woman had given her. "But it appears you're quite tall for a Breton."

"I am not a Breton.", Eliana distractedly corrected. "Everyone makes the mistake, though.”, she added with a smile. “Common ancesters, I guess."

Gerdur raised an eyebrow but didn't question her any further.

"So, you tell me you're from Falkreath, eh?", Ralof asked, inviting the girl to sit and handing her a bowl full of smoking warm soup and a loaf of bread.

“I was.”, she muttered darkly. “Not that it matters now, I can't go back.”

"Then you should come to Windhelm with me, join the rebellion.", the soldier exclaimed. "You've seen the true face of the Empire here today!"

The young woman blinked.

"Maybe I should...”, she breathed thoughtfully. “But I doubt I would blend in. You've seen me in battle... Hardly heroine material...”

The blond did not in the slightest seem affected by her denial. “If you ever change your mind, find Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's second in command, in Windhelm. Tell him I'm sending you. He's not one to be fond of magic but the army could sure use a battle-mage such as you.”

They remained silent for a while, savoring each morsel of meat, every piece of vegetable and mouthful of bread in contemplative silence until both their bowls had been emptied and refilled twice and Gerdur finally broke the moment.

"I ought to get back to work before I'm missed. You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need, brother. But there's something you could do for me.", she offered Eliana with an apologetic smile. "For all of us. The jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless… We need to get the word to jarl Balgruff in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. Ralof is well known in these parts and would be arrested on sight, that's why I'm asking you. If you'll do that for us,  _I_ 'll be in your debt."

The young woman nodded.

"It's the very least I can do."

"Balgruuf has yet to chose a side in the civil war so it's unlikely you will find any Imperial patrols on the road, but in case you do...”, she added, grabbing the girl's hand as she rose from her bench. She crossed the hall to a nearby cabinet and searched the cupboard for a moment before getting a satchel she hastily stuffed with a worn travel cloak and a few supplies. “Here”, she said, offering the bag to the girl. “You will bring less attention on you if you pass for a traveler, or a pilgrim. There's a temple of Kynareth in Whiterun; none should question you much if you pretend you're heading there to admire the Gildergreen.”

Eliana bid Ralof a fond farewell and followed Gerdur down the street and to the end of the bridge that crossed the river out of the village.

“You'll need follow the road down the river. Once at the foothills, turn left, Dragonsreach should be in sight.”

"Thank you... for everything. I will never forget what you've done for me."

"Friends of Ralof's are friends of mine.", the woodchopper simply repeated. "Know that you will always be welcome to return in Riverwood. But, as much as my brother longs to see you come with him and join the fight, you should be free to make your own path.” She searched briefly through her pockets and pulled out a small coinpurse she slid into the girls palm. “It's not much but it should be enough to buy a few nights at a good inn and a carriage ride away from whatever you're running from.”, she added knowingly. “Talos guard you.”

"And you."

Eliana turned right after the bridge and the village soon disappeared behind a rocky crest as, before her unfolded the vast plains of Whiterun.

Home was behind, the world ahead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short chapter, and yet so many unanswered questions! What has Eliana been through and what did she do to end up under the headman's axe.  
> You will find out reading next chapter... or the next one... or more like sixty chapters later, or so...  
> Still! Stay tuned and let me know your impressions by leaving a lil review! ;)


	4. The Goldenhold

_ **The Goldenhold – 17 th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun hold** _

Skyrim's last days of summer were lit by beautiful everlasting sunsets, crowning the land in a surreal glow that lingered lazily over the horizon as the skies turned dark, only fading to leave way to the deepest starlit nights, where the only light came from the moons and the fireflies.

Eliana stopped a moment over the hill, watching as the sun tilted slightly west and the light changed ever so slightly, clear blue sky devoid of clouds over the wide open plains of golden grass.

Whiterun stood proudly on a hill, strong wooden walls circling each districts up to Dragonsreach. A stream, in which flowed the rills springing from the side of the hill, ran through the plains, growing to a lively torrent as it met the course of the White River, quietly embedding itself in a canyon running east.

Gardens and lush crops, circled by small stony walls and wooden fences, grew by the road she followed up the the foothills where the first rampart stood.

“Halt!”, a voice ordered.

The young woman looked up, raising her hand to the level of her eye to block the sun, and saw a guard standing in the shadow of a watch-tower come into the light.

“The city's closed by order of the jarl. Official business only.”

“I bring news from the south.”, the young woman said. “Riverwood calls for the jarl's aid.”

“Riverwood's in danger too?”, the guard said. “Very well, you'd better go on in, then. You'll find the jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. Open the gates!”

The young woman walked through the gates, a real sense of security overwhelming her for the first time in days. The streets were buzzing with effervescence, people coming and going amongst the stalls or discussing orders with the blacksmith, children running through the wide alleys and up the stairs leading to a vast round place circling a huge flowery tree.

She passed under the heavy branches with a dreamy smile on her lips and violently jolted when loud preaching came breaking her train of thoughts.

“The truth, children of Talos, is that the Dragon's children have come! To purge the world in fire and righteousness! There are those who would silence the Dragon's truth! But not I! Not Heimskr! His word will be known! He has returned... Oh, how Talos has returned! Helgen has been purged in his light. Will Whiterun be next?”

The young woman rushed past the altar and up the stairs, doing her very best to ignore the scorching memories the priest recalled. She could still smell the breath of the dragon, the sulphur and ashes and burnt flesh, feel the scorching heat of the fire burning her skin, hear the screams...

The memory faded, washed away by the sound of water flowing down the walls of the jarl's palace. She crossed the wooden bridge under the gaze of the two guards standing watch and stepped through the wide open gates.

 

_ **17 th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun - Dragonsreach** _

Tall pillars of carved sandy wood arched over a stairway leading to a long, warmly lit hall.

Caught up in the sight of the gigantic skull hovering over the throne, Eliana did not notice a dark skinned figure approaching with a sword drawn.

“What's the meaning of this intrusion? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

“I come from Riverwood.”, the girl replied. “The village is in danger.”

The Dunmer slightly lowered her sword.

“As housecarl, my duty is to deal with all dangers that threaten the jarl, or his people.”, she said, a cold edge in her voice. “So you have my attention. Speak up, now, explain yourself.”

Eliana took a deep breath but a strong voice broke the silence.

“Irileth. Let this _visitor_ come forth. I want to hear what she has to say.”

The young woman crossed through the hall, the jarl's housecarl on her heels and bowed respectfully before the man sat on the throne.

“Well, I trust you have something vitally important to tell me.”, the jarl offered. “Important enough to interrupt me in the middle of council?”

“Please forgive my intrusion, my jarl. I... I bring news from Helgen.”

She saw the man straighten on his throne, at full attention, and hesitated a second before she spoke again, unsure whether the jarl would have the patience to listen to bedtimes stories related by some disheveled traveler.

“A dragon destroyed the village and slaughtered the Imperial garrison... and Gerdur fears Riverwood might be next.”

“Gerdur.”, the jarl repeated. “Owner of the lumber-mill, if I'm not mistaken. Pillar of the community. Not prone to flight of fancy...”

A frown darkened his eyes. “And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon?”, he asked, cautious, “This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”

The girl nodded gravely. “I was there.”, she muttered. “I've seen this dragon with my own eyes... And last I saw, it was heading this way.”

“By Ysmir! You were right, Irileth. What say you now, Proventus?”, the jarl pointed, turning his gaze towards a weasely Imperial standing in the shadow by his throne. “Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

“My lord”, the Dunmer cut, “we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains...”

“The jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!”, the small man countered. “He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We shouldn't...”

“Enough!”, the jarl barked loudly, bidding them to silence. “I will not stand idly while a dragon burns my hold and threatens my people. Irileth. Send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my jarl.”, the housecarl bowed and immediately headed down the hall.

“If you will excuse me... I will return to my duties.”, the Imperial bowed respectfully before he retreated.

“That would be best.”, the jarl said coldly, then turned a warmer glance towards the overlooked messenger. “You've done well, miss. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You have done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Feel welcome to stay in my city as long as you desire.”

“Thank you, my jarl.”, the girl bowed and waited for her dismissal to take her leave. But the jarl said no more, considering her for a moment before he spoke again.

“There is another thing you could do for me... Suitable for someone who managed to escape Helgen with one's skin intact, perhaps... Come.”, he ordered, rising from his throne and heading to the eastern side of the hall where a smaller arch opened on another well lit room. “I will introduce you to Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons... well, until now, _rumours_ of dragons...”

The room he guided her to appeared to be a library, dozens of shelves weightened by books and parchments adorning the walls while at the center of the room stood a long desk littered with papers and fragments of seemingly ancient carvings over which leaned a tall man clad in blue hooded mage robes.

“Farengar.”, the jarl called out, snapping the man out of his thoughts. “I think I found someone who can help you with your project.”

The young woman stepped into the light and bowed curtly to the courtmage.

“Fill her with the details.”, the jarl ordered, oblivious to the disdainful look the wizard cast on the visitor. “This project of yours is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons, we need it quickly. Before it's too late.”

“So... the jarl thinks you can be of use to me...", the wizard said, considering the girl before him. “Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch”, he shrugged, “I really mean _'delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.'_ ”

“All right.”, she sighed. “Where am I going and what am I fetching?”

“Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?”, he added, oblivious to the dark shadow obscuring the girl's eyes and the way her hands clenched to fists at the sides. “I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a Dragonstone - said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

 


	5. Over hills and underhills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on for the long chapter!

_ ** Over hills and underhills my path has led - 17 th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun Hold ** _

She knew not what bound her to oblige, to embark on this journey up the threatening mountain Ralof had warned her about – stories that had haunted his childhood, nightmares of draugrs crawling up to his window in the darkest hours of the night – but still, there she was, clad in a dress and leather gambison that were not hers, wrapping Gerdur's travel cloak tightly around her shoulders and conjuring the tiniest flames to keep herself from freezing in the blizzard.

Up the snowy slope, the tall shape of a tower detached itself against the thick fog. A cold gust of wind sent shivers down her spine and she crouched behind a rock to hide from the hail and snow. Snowflakes obscured her vision and the howling of the wind carried the sound of voices nearby.

“...kill 'em, he talks to me again like that... get him when he's sleeping... or poison his meat... see how he likes that... _'Harknir, go watch the road'_ , he said. Ain't no body coming up that damn rock!”

Her heart racing in her chest, the girl risked a glance behind the rock to see a man clad in fur armour descend the slope towards her hiding place. The flickering light of the torch cast a game of shadows upon the snowy slope, thickening the fog but dangerously nearing her crouched shape.

The shrieking sound of a sword drawn from a sheath made her heart skip a beat as a hand roughly grabbed her by the collar and pulled her into the light.

“Now ain't this a surprise!”, the bandit smiled. “You picked a bad time to get lost, friend!”

The blade swept on her and a scream of agony rang through the howling of the wind as the thug hit the dark stone cliff and struggle against the grip of the fire.

“Gonna rip you... open!”, he roared but his voice died out in a thundering explosion that echoed loud through the valley as he writhed and convulsed in flames.

Frozen in terror, the young woman felt her stomach clench painfully and bile rise to her throat when the wind and snow smothered the fire leaving only a scorched carcass in its wake. She shut her eyes tightly and focussed on the crisp air chasing away the agonizing smell of burnt flesh and struggled to rise to her feet. There were more bandits nearby, she couldn't linger, even for a moment. The sooner she'd have reached the tomb, the safer she'd be.

 

_ **17 th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Bleak Falls Barrow** _

The tomb stood proud and threatening, its black stone clad in a thick layer of ice detaching itself clearly against the white pale skies. The gigantic gates were open and let through a warm ray of light betraying a camp fire inside.

“So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?”

“That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks.”

Eliana slithered between the two metal panels and noiselessly hid in the shadows to listen to their conversation.

"What if Arvel doesn't come back?”, a dark skinned Imperial pointed, stepping out of the shadows shrouding an altar on her right. “I want my share from that claw!”

“Just shut it and keep an eye out for trouble!”, a feminine voice snapped coldly. “Harknir should already be here...”

The young woman slipped further in the dark, out of sight and watched cautiously the group of bandits spread out, two of them sitting by the fire while another headed down a corridor leading deep in the darkness of the barrow.

“Mead...”, one of them spat, uncorking a bottle a swallowing a gulp from it with a disdainful pout. “Always mead... Would kill you to get some beer every now and then? Stupid bees with their stupid honey!”

A squealing sound nearby broke the moment and shot them all to attention.

“Who's there?”

The man standing watch by the gates drew his sword and cautiously scrutinized the darkness around before a small form crawling in the shadow caught his eye.

“Lookee wha' we got here...”, he chuckled as the black shape of a rat crawled into the light and close to the fire to snif an abandonned plate of food left over by a bedroll.

“It gives me the creeps”, he said after a moment observing the rat that soon left the piece of bread it found to chew on a left over piece of meat, “like it's not scared.”

“There haven't been any visitors in this tomb for years. There's no reason for it to fear man.”

A loud clash of metal against stone and broken clay followed by a pained squeal broke the silence.

“Now it does.”, the broad Imperial smirked, oblivious to the scowl his companions shot him.

“You shouldn't have done that.”

The man snorted and returned to his original position, his saved plate and bottle of mead in hand.

“Skeever lovers...”, he chuckled and threw his head back to empty his drink before he could return to his watch.

A scream and a new crash of ceramic broke the silence.

“You son of a...”, the bandit spat and kicked wildly, missing the rat but only just, “Haven't had enough?”

“What is it now?”, one of his companions sighed.

“Li'l bastard bit me!”, the man whined, shooting a death glare to the he dark form of the rodent sitting straight, at the edge of the shadow, seemingly unfazzed by the man's outburst.

“Now, that's quite an injury... Now knock it off and watch the door. Don't want some sellsword to gut me in m'sleep.”

The man ignored them and took a most threatening step towards the rat that disappeared with a squeal in the darkness. Eliana froze in the nearby corner as she noticed with sudden fear other dark shapes crawling in the shadows and towards the oblivious bandit now sat against the door.

A choked gasp escaped the man's lips and a sudden comprehension flashed on the Imperial's face before an agony scream broke the silence. Half a dozen of skeevers had crawled out of the crumbled walls and threw themselves on the man who could do naught against the harassing assault and fell even before his mates could help.

Eliana slipped out of the shadows just in time to see a second man fall against the altar nearby with a sickening sound of bones breaking against stone, and rushed downstairs, deep in the bowels of the tomb as the third bandit's cries of battle died out. The sound of a sword hitting the ground and a ragged breath coming near made her freeze in an alcove and, through the darkness, she saw the last thug limp weakly towards the fire camp, and her bleeding form crash loudly by a bedroll, victorious but dying. A last ragged breath echoed quietly through the ancient hall and then only remained silence.

Eliana bowed her head in prayer and hesitantly rose to her feet to venture deeper into the candlelit barrow.

The sound of her footsteps, light on the dusty stone floor, felt foreign and misplaced in the long corridors bordered by dark alcoves in which the dim light of the braziers revealed the oppressive forms of obsidian carved stone altars.

The light soon died out as she reached the end of the corridor. A whole section of a wall had crumbled, heavy rocks and pieces of an arch seemingly only held back by vines and creep clusters. She cautiously stepped over the dead plants, her breath stuck in her throat as her mere passage dislodged a cloud of dust and little rocks from the ceiling.

She froze, with her eyes shut, another prayer dying on her lips and kept descending the ruined staircase, her breath stuck in her throat until she reached a sturdier part of the barrow. Other corridors and chambers had fallen apart over the ages but no sign of impending collapse threatened her passage through the deeper parts of the tomb until she reached a strong stone arch curtained by ivy and supported by seemingly recent wooden pillars.

Down a flight of stairs, the corridor opened on a torch-lit chamber, circled by a high balcony harbouring ancient carvings and turning pillars. She briefly wondered what they were meant for but soon found the answer when the flickering light of a torch on the ground revealed, by a bloodstained lever, the impaled corpses of two more dungeon delvers.

She cautiously circled the gruesome sight and picked the abandoned light source before she considered venturing further into the dark passage the lever seemed to have opened. The dying warmth emanating from a brazier on the other side of the portcullis meant the expedition had not met its end there.

Dimly lit by the fire nearby, a flight of stairs dived deeper down the tomb, and the traces of footsteps in the dust beckoned her to follow. She stopped at the edge of the stairs, a loose plank on the second step letting her glimpse at the vertiginous descent that awaited her if the worm-eaten wood gave in under her weight.

She took in a deep soothing breath and risked herself on the first step. The wood creaked painfully under her weight, the antique pillar sustaining the stairs seemingly bending to accommodate to the pressure. She pressed herself against the stone wall, futilely hoping to catch some balance against the steadfast structure should the stairs collapse.

She had reached halfway down the stairs when a sudden crack under her feet made her heart skip a beat. The plank fell, sending her off balance. She caught herself against the wooden pillar and felt the wood break in her hands, almost sending her off the edge and tearing the flickering torch out of her grip. Her heart beating hard, she rushed down the rest of the stairs and let out a deep relieved sigh at the feeling of the hard stone under her feet.

Before her, she could barely distinguish the frame of an archway leading farther into darkness. Keeping a hand on the wall to keep her footing on the uneven floor, she advanced farther still, in the shadows. The light sound of her footsteps no longer echoed through the hallway she imagined too clutered with shelves or vines to let any sound reflect. But soon, even the ground under her feet started changing and something soft creeping its way on the walls made her heart skip a beat. Fighting hard to keep her breathing still and constant, she froze on spot and slowly withdrew her hand from the wall, a cold wave of horror washing over her when she felt the web dangerously cling to her skin.

Hyperventilating, she pulled a shaky hand to her chest and gathered her magicka in a pale mage light she cast as far as she could, revealing ancient vaults and veiled shapes hanging in alcoves of the web coated corridor. Frostbites were a dread to fight off, often hunting in pairs - or even larger groups – spitting out venom that chilled a limb to the bone on mere contact before they dug their fangs in the flesh, paralysing their prey to eat at leisure – and few of those who ventured their lairs ever came back to tell the tale.

Still, she advanced, sparks of magicka igniting at her fingertips, the dying magelight casting the long cob-clad corridor in an eerie, unwanted light where every shadow creeping under the vaults was a threat.

“Harknir? Bjorn?”

A voice echoed low, desperate, on the other side of web-curtained stone archs. “Soling? Is that you?”

Eliana risked herself through a hole in the webbing, under a collapsed archway, to reach a wide room littered with dozens of dried off corpses and countless egg-sacks.

“Hey, you!”, the voice called under one's breath. “Come over here, quickly!”

She approached cautiously to see the prone form of a Dunmer trapped in the webbing inside one of the alcoves; his mouth was parched and his speech weighed down by yet to dissipate numbness of the venom. “Bless Azura! I feared no one would ever come. Quick! You have to help me out of there, cut these webbing loose before it comes back!”

The young woman looked around frantically, realizing only now she had been careless enough to go on this quest without as much as a knife in her boot.

“Don't just stay gawking there!”, the mer admonished her. “Listen, I shan't cause you any trouble and, if you release me, we might both end up rich as jarls. Now get to business, quickly! My dagger is right there.”, he breathed, motioning to the curved glimmer smothered by the fluffy white webbing. “Can't reach it, but it should cut through these web just fine. Sure did cut though that chitinous beast well enough.”

The young woman armed herself with the sharp elven blade, an irrepressible shiver running down her spine at the mere contact of the gilded alloy, and proceeded to carefully cut out the web. The sticky silk clung dangerously to the blade as she neared the spider's prey and cut through the white cocoon, the webbing soft and pungent but stronger than the rest.

The mer wiggled in his restraints, trying to loosen the iron grip of the fibres and managed to slip one arm out and help the girl tear out the rest of the webbing.

“It's coming loose. I feel it!”

A chitinous sound echoed nearby, too loud for comfort, stifled as it was by the webbing that cluttered the hall. The mer paled dangerously and Eliana froze, a dark shadow creeping its way above them, out of a crook in the tall wall. The young woman threw herself back just in time, her back hitting the floor with a sharp huff as the spider swept down on her. Eight long legs caged her, under the arachnid's abdomen, a bolt of panic rushing though her veins as the fangs of the beast clicked angrily over her. She slashed the dagger through the air, gold and chitin colliding with a loud crack. The frostbite drew back into an aggressive stance and the girl crawled away and rolled to the side to avoid a deadly spit of venom that spattered on the floor, filling the air with a sickening acrid-stench. Taken aback by its prey's resistance, the beast charged forward, only to meet a rising wall of flames. It bucked back and curled in a writhing ball, the searing heat and blinding light sending it in a panicked frenzy. Climbing clumsily back into its web as flames spurted anew, the spider crawled back shakily, disappearing through a hole in the wall, a segmented leg sticking over the edge and eight black eyes gleaming in the dark the only reminder of its presence.

“We gotta move!”, Eliana breathed, cutting the dark elf free in one last ditch effort. “It won't be scared long.”

The mer led the way through an arch and along a narrow corridor relievingly devoid of webs, searching briefly through his satchel to get a small leather journal. “Got any light, perchance?”, he asked, laying the small book open on a stone slab nearby.

Eliana conjured a small flame in the palm of her hand and hovered it near enough to be able to read. The journal was covered with a messy handwriting, mixing dunmeri runes and imperial common language. The mer skimmed through the pages shortly, before he reached the precise passage he was looking for : a summary plan of the barrow, corridors already explored barred with dark red ink, and a sketch of a nordic puzzle door.

“The Hall of Stories is still way down, and since our eight-legged friend there has claimed this whole section...”, he noted, scratching a large portion of the plan, “and this corridor there has collapsed, we don't have much choice but to pass through the crypts.”

The young woman nodded curtly as the Dunmer replaced the journal in his satchel. In the flickering light of her conjured flames, she caught a glimpse of a golden device at the bottom of the bag.

“Carrying on in the dark would be suicide. Can you hold that for long?”, he asked sharply, motioning to the fire in her hand.

“I'm not sure.”

“Better make us some light, before we move forward.”, the mer said, looking around them as the fire in the girl's palm flickered. He traced the length of the wall hesitantly, the contact of black iron breaking the monotony of the stone surface stopping his tracks as he found what he was looking for. “This way, come here.”

The young woman obeyed mecanically and watched as the mer lit a piece of tattered linen at her flame and tossed it in the dead cold brazier. The cask caught fire in an instant and liquid flames licked the surface of the wall, slithering through a channel carved in stone to successively pool in the hearths scattered along the hall forward. Lit by the warm glow, high dark vaults carved into the bones of the mountain supported yet higher walls, engraved in hundreds of long alcoves, draped with banners long faded, some tattered enough to let through a glimpse of what laid behind.

Eliana felt her blood run cold; the small plume of mist escaping her lips with every breath felt foreign and unseemly in those halls governed by the long departed, and every step echoing loud on the carven stone an unwelcome disrupt in the warriors of old's eternal sleep.

Seemingly unfazzed by the décor or the abundance of remnants scattered along the halls - disrupted from their resting place by some long forgotten quake, he quickly dismissed - the elf, who came to introduce himself as Arvel Dreth, the Swift, led the way further into the dungeon, following the course of the light until the fire died at the middle of a circular room, the flow of oil seemingly cut by a collapse in one of the adjascent corridors.

“Seems this is as far as we'll get that way...”, the mer sighed dejectedly and pulled his journal from the satchel hanging on his belt.

“You did not tell me...”, the young woman risked as the elf lit back his torch to the everlasting brazier and laid his notes on a nearby slab to explore around. “What exactly brought you here?”

“I could ask you the same.”, the dunmer pointed. “It took me months and a good deal of gold to buy a safe passage to this tomb. You on the other hand, you look like a farm-girl who lost her way up the slope and entered the crypt to escape the blizzard. Yet, if my... _associates_ did not deter you from following the same path as I, I suppose you're here for a purpose.”

The young woman braced herself, and decided it was in her best interest to be honest with the mer.

“I have been sent by the jarl of Whiterun, to retrieve something from the barrow.”

“Ah. What is there to find in a crypt but fame and fortune?”, the mer mused, “Those tombs are told to hold many treasures. Gemstones and precious metals, trinkets and enchanted weapons buried in offering to the high priest they were built in honour of. I wonder which one has piqued the interest of this good jarl Balgruuf...”

“That's none of your business.”, the girl breathed with a smile.

“Quite the contrary. Me and my men have invested too much in this expedition to part with a single coin of this treasure.”

“I have no interest in coin, sera.”, Eliana replied, a spark of magicka igniting at her fingers. “And I mean to cause you no trouble. Once I find that Dragonstone carving I'm looking for, I will be on my way.”

The dunmer nodded sharply. “I suppose since you cut me out of that trap earlier, I can cut you in the deal as it appears the number of other interested parties have drastically decreased.”

“Yet you don't seem so worried about the fate of your men, are you?”

“Well, you know sellswords... Our contract was quite clear, actually : if they got themselves killed, I did not have to pay them. Whether their demise is of your doing or not, you made me save a fortune, that must count for something!”, the mer added with a wolfish smile.

The young woman frowned, but remained silent, careful not to push her luck. If she were to maintain this circumstantial alliance long enough to return to Whiterun, better keep her wits to herself and follow the mer's plan – given he did indeed have one.

“Where are we heading next, sera?”, she asked as Arvel put back the leather journal in his bag.

“This part of the dungeons is more loosely mapped, actually, so I'm not sure.”, he explained giving a dejected look to their surroundings.

From the circular room left two more side corridors, narrower and less richly carved than the halls they had come from, seemingly leading deeper in the darkness of the dungeon.

“I say we don't have much choice but to trust each other at this point...”, the mer sighed pointedly. “You take left, I take right, we stay at earshot and call each other if one of us finds something.”

The girl nodded sharply, a bright blue magelight sparkling at her fingertips as she reached her designated arch.

“Am I looking for something in particular?”

“From what I understand, the way to the main burial chambers should be marked with a set of carvings depending on the rank of the priest resting here.”, Arvel explained, the light of his torch fading into his own corridor. “Judging by the size and place this one was built, we must be in the tomb of a high-ranking priest, so the way-stone will bear either a moth or a dragon.”

Eliana nodded to herself, the pale hue of her spell revealing naught but smooth dark stone and icy alcoves where ebony carved slabs froze the thin sheen of water constantly running down the walls. The cold had apparently kept ivy and vines from invading the masonry down the deepest parts, rendering the structure sturdy enough to venture with relative ease, but she worried what damage ice could have dealt the halls throughout centuries.

“Found anything yet?”, the voice of her companion came echoing from afar.

“No, not yet...”

She felt a shiver run down her spine as her voice echoed uncomfortably long through the corridor, a whip of cold air passing through the hall and freezing her to the bone as she reached the end of the long passage. There, the light of her spell revealed nothing but a pitch black darkness under a narrow stone bridge devoid of guardrail. The platform crossed the darkness to a tall pillar that seemed to emerge from the void itself and on which stood proudly the emblem she had been looking for: a chiselled stone escutcheon carved with the spread-winged shape of a soaring dragon.

“Here! I found it!”, she called out, stepping back from the void and into the corridor where she merely waited moments before Arvel joined her.

“Yes...”, he breathed, the light of his torch giving life to the carving ahead. “Careful there... the stone is slippery.”, he added after taking a few hesitant steps down the narrow path.

Eliana followed suit, each hesitant step a torture as she struggled hard not to look down to the vertiginous darkness; the magelight in her hand had been abandoned in favour of a steadier balance, her arms outstretched on her sides, the guiding light of the torch a comforting beacon, just a few steps away on the pillar-supported platform.

“You're almost there, come on.”, the mer encouraged impatiently.

She leaped the last steps and firmly caught herself against the pillar, the support most welcome as her legs barely managed to bear her this far.

“What now?”, she asked shakily, the prospect of another crossing most uncomfortable to her.

“There's another pillar there.”, Arvel pointed, motioning to a taller yet structure supported by a wooden scaffold offering them a makeshift bridge. “The marking is similar to this one. I believe we'll find the entrance of the inner crypt there.”

The young woman nodded slowly, her gaze hesitantly following the criss-crossed beams diving into the dark, finding solace in the thought such a structure needed to be anchored to the ground somewhere below them.

“You're taller.”, Arvel's voice broke her train of thoughts. “You pass last.”

She watched silently as the mer strode to the bridge, cautiously securing his footing on the beam before he made the leap of faith. The wood creaked and ground lightly under his weight, the structure plaintively moaning with every stride until he finally reached the stone platform, his footing set off balance as the last plank gave in under his weight.

“Be careful!”, he shouted from across the gap. “The last beam's broken. You will have to jump for it, and I'll catch you.”

“How do I know you won't let me fall if I manage to reach you.”

“Would you rather make your way back alone in the dark?”, he pointed. “Go slowly, sera, once step at a time, and you'll be alright.”, he encouraged sincerely as Eliana stepped closer to the edge.

The wooden beams creaked louder under her step, the ropes holding the scaffold together grinding into a thin cloud of dust that disappeared in a swirl in the darkness below.

Her heart pounding hard in her chest, the young woman struggled against vertigo and stepped hazardously on the millennial structure. Each step, each stride drew a loud complaint, the screeching of the wood echoeing long through the darkness until a deafening crack rang through the air. Crossed logs below suddenly bent. The rope holding them whipped through the air, severed by ages and tension, and the whole structured started leaning in a suspended moment of eternity. Eliana felt in horror her the beam break and slump under her weight. The thunderous sound of the scaffold collapsing, the roughness of wood skinning her palms and the blinding pain when her body met the floor were the last thing she registered before her world was swallowed into darkness.

 

A voice echoing far in a dark recess of her pain-fogged mind brought her back to consciousness.

“Sera? Sera! You alive?”

A severe backache and faint numbness weighting over her body, she managed to crack her eyes open, a light through the blur that was her vision suddenly reminding her of her whereabouts. High above, bent over the edge of the stone platform, his torch outstretched in an attempt to pierce the darkness, Arvel was calling for her.

“I'm alive!”, she replied, her voice pained and a dry cough caught in her throat. “I'm here!”

She pushed hard against the weight oppressing her and crawled out of the debris, a tiny magelight all she managed to conjure as she barely recovered from the shock. She had landed quite a distance below, on a lower platform; folded atop of her, debris dangerously hovering over her, the top of the scaffold had crumbled and was now left precariously hanging over the void emptiness.

“Stay still!”, the elf ordered as he spotted her, struggling to extract her ankle from under a joist.

An earth-shattering noise resounded loudly nearby and a cloud of dust and sand leaked from the stone pillar as a large crack ran through the base of the column.

“There's no point in us both dying here, sera.”, the mer pointed coolly above. “The pillar is cracked, it's a matter of time before the whole hall collapses. I'm sincerely sorry. I was looking forward to sharing that prize with you.”, he added, his voice more distant as his steps cautiously led him around the platform.

“Arvel, please! Don't leave me here!”, she begged, the pressure on her leg more unbearable the further the mer advanced. “There's a rope hanging there!”, she called out, “If you just throw it to me...”

“The scaffold you're now part of is the only thing holding that pillar.”, the dunmer cut swiftly. “You move, the pillar falls, the hall collapses. It's nothing personal, really...”, he explained quietly once his steps had reached the suspended stone bridge separating him from the corridor leaving the hall. “Just business. You're more trouble than you're worth. But don't worry, errand girl, the jarl will have his tablet, given he's got the coin for it. May the Tribunal judge kindly on your soul.”

“WAIT!”

Another violent quake shook the ground, echoing loud as a thunderstorm; the stone snapped sharp as a shattered bone, sending the shaft splinter down below.

Her arms wrapped over her head protectively, Eliana waited for what felt an eternity, until the quake died out and the heavy rain of wood and stone stopped falling from the higher vaults, before she dared open her eyes. A heavy cloud of moulded stone and sawdust was slowly subsiding, the faint light of a torch rolling back and forth somewhere down the ruin revealing the writhing shape of a familiar figure.

“Arvel!”

The dunmer straightened, his pain twisted face morphing into a dejected look as he took hold of his surroundings.

“I told you not to move!”, he snapped angrily, swinging a would-be-threatening fist towards the girl up above.

“I didn't move!”

“You did!”

“Did not.”

“Well while you're at it, maybe you can send me a rope, or something...”

The girl froze, the weak magelight she cast earlier flickering with the strength of her annoyment.

“Sorry, Arvel.”, she seethed coldly. “You're more trouble than you're worth.”

Unexpectedly, the dunmer laughed. “That I am. But I thought you a better person than I.”

Eliana let out a breathy chuckle. “And I am most tempted to prove you wrong, sera.”

A deathly silence fell like a lead blanket over the hall as the magelight faded... soon to be replaced by another.

“While you're down there, try and cast a look around!”, the young woman ordered, her breathing ragged with barely controlled anger as she painstakingly untied a rope from a nearby broken beam. “See if there's any passageway and we'll see if you climb back up or I join you down.”

“Azura bless you.”

The steps of the mer drew away for a moment and suddenly stopped. Eliana turned to her companion, the light of his torch outstretched before him, his dark red eyes squinted in an attempt to pierce the darkness. A rough guttural sound emerged from the pitch black emptiness and echoed disturbingly long through the hall. The young woman let her magelight fade as, in the distance beyond Arvel, blue floating whisp-like lights enlightened eerily. Another breathy rattle sounded low and deep down the length of the dungeon. A shiver ran down her spine as a shrieking gust of wind whipped through the hall and the torchlight flickered. The clear sound of a blade drawn of a sheath shattered the silence.

Eliana cast a powerful magelight to the ceiling, revealing in a blazing burst of light the terrifying spectacle of a slow but unrelenting wave of foes closing up on them.

Arvel ran, his torch abandoned behind him and reached the foot of the scaffold with a swiftness fit to his name. Eliana threw him the rope and helped him up the ruined pillar and out of the swarming horde's reach.

“Curse this nonsense!”, the mer spat, out of breath as he reached the top of the pillar. “Why can't your dead stay dead?”

“We disturbed their slumber when we entered.”, Eliana breathed, legends and horror stories of her childhood taking life in front of her eyes as the light revealed, rising from the alcoves carved along the walls, yet more draugrs to come. “They must protect their burial chambers against intruders...”

The dunmer stopped abruptly, the young woman on his tracks catching him just shy of loosing balance as a violent quake shook the rock. Gathered around the column, the small army of dead pushed and hit the base of the pillar restlessly, each unrelenting, battering blow enlarging the crack at the base of the fallen obelisk.

“We got to move, now! It's a matter of time before they climb up or put us down!”

“Better keep them busy if there's still a chance to reach the main burial chambers.”, Arvel thought out-loud, his steps hesitant on the steep slope of the fallen pillar.

Focussed on her own pacing up the treacherous path, Eliana jolted as a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder and shoved her forward. Thrown off balance, she grabbed the mer desperately, and felt the buckle of his satchel give in under her weight before she fell back hard onto the ground.

“Best of luck down there.”, Arvel boasted before he disappeared up the marked corridor, leaving her to the mercy of the dead of old.

Ignoring the pain and shock of the fall, Eliana jumped back to her feet and tore a pole from the ruined scaffold – the still vivid memory of a violent headache reminding her of the last time she fought with a staff – ready to make her last desperate stand there. Embers flickering at her fingertips, she watched cautiously as the draugr stopped, just out of her staff's reach and ceremoniously stepped aside to reveal a stronger built, heavily armoured deathlord, standing amongst them, his cold dead eyes fixed on her.

The warrior of old raised his ax in salute, a gesture as old as Skyrim itself, defying the young woman to a duel in the ancient Nord way. Eliana felt herself mimic the gesture, tacitly accepting the challenge and watched lifelessly as her steps led her closer, to the centre of the magelit hall. The draugr hit his shield ceremoniously and advanced on her. The whistling of the blade whipping through the air shattered her trance. The young woman dodged the axe gracefully and clobbered her foe away with the length of her staff. Wood cracked against the steadfast armour, leaving the draugr seemingly unfazzed and dangerously close. The dustman slashed anew. The metal edge dug deeply into the old dry wood, fending off the intruder and backing her against the carven stone. The young woman choked on her breath, the brutal force knocking the air out of her lungs, and struggled to wriggle free as her makeshift weapon slowly gave in under the honed war axe and a sick satisfied smirk disfigured the warrior's mummified face.

A thunder-like explosion shook the bones of the earth and a fire storm engulfed them both, throwing the flaming carcass on the floor. The warrior struggled to rise up as the intruder relinquished her hold on the flame aura engulfing her to drown him into a fierce fire storm, his embalmed flesh turning to ashes and the spark of life in his eyes dying in an otherworldly rattle.

Eliana hesitantly lowered her hand, a violent sense of panic seizing her as the circle of draugr around her froze, eerie lifeless eyes scorching her very soul.

An aggressive rattle and the crystal clear sound of a sword unsheathed broke the silence. She bolted, slashing her way through the circle of undead and ran into the darkness, the footsteps of the horde close behind her. A sudden drop in the stone pavement cut her flight and she fell to her knees into a puddle of a pungent slippery fluid. Oil!

She roused herself from the deadly trap and crossed the stretch with great trouble and reached the other side just as the first dustmen stepped into the iridescent stretch. She acted on instinct, oblivious to the immediate peril of the oil drenching her robe and soiling her hands. A fireball swept on the draugr, and exploded on impact, blue flames engulfing the throng in a deadly swirl of destruction that dissolved in blazing ashes and red embers.

Backed against the wall, Eliana dug her hands in the dirt, and froze the drenched folds of her robes to keep them from catching fire. Her breathing sharp and shallow, she watched in frozen panic as the fire subsided, the hall no longer sounding of the footsteps of the horde, and the light dying with the flame leaving the temple once more in complete darkness.

“ _Balaan unslaad hokoron..._ ”

A disembodied voice echoed through the dark as a cold whispering wind whimpered through the hall.

“ _Hin wuduun, prodah, qolaas dur tahrodiis dez, fah hi drun diinoksetiid nimaar, dovahkriid._ ” (Your coming, foretold, heralds a treacherous fate, for you bring [upon us] the end of time itself, dragon slayer.)

She shivered, the accusing tone enough to make her shudder under the force of this lifeless voice if she could not understand the language it spoke.

In the distance, the voice died out in silence and darkness in a flicker of light as a brazier ignited, bathing a long flight of stairs in an eerie, ice cold light.

Eliana hesitantly roused herself from her huddled position and cast a magelight towards the ceiling to pierce the pitch blackness. The hall stood empty, the crypts and alcoves dark and silent, the dustmen offered eternal slumber. At the centre of the hall, the crumbled form of the pillar still threatened to collapse, and seal the tomb for eternity.

The young woman crossed the length of the crypt to the scaffold, the beams and ropes entangled in a precarious balance. She studied the frame for a while, considering her chances at climbing and crawling her way out rather than burying herself deeper into the Temple, but the painful creaking of wood under the mere pressure of her hands forbid any hope for success.

She reluctantly turned away from the wooden construction and to the end of the hall, where the ice-cold flames beckoned her.

A metallic sound at her feet broke the hypnotic call of the depth. Forgotten in her fall and the following struggle, Arvel's satchel laid open on the ground, a journal spread out of the leather bag and under it, the same golden glimmer that caught her eye earlier. She searched briefly and found, wrapped in a piece of linen, a heavy sculpture of carven gold representing a three fingered claw. It was heavy and ancient – probably worth a lot to the right buyer – and she wondered what could have led thugs like Arvel and his men to carry on their exploration if they had already found such a prize. She dismissed the question to the back of her mind and picked up the bag and journal, strapping the satchel to her hip, before she cautiously crossed the rest of the hall towards the light.

Stone stairs climbed high into darkness, several braziers standing dead cold on either side and at the centre of the long slope, the eerie glimmer of the cold fire fading with every step she took and each fire she lit, soon bathing the carven hall in a warm golden light.

At the far end of the staircase, a tall black wall encased a circular carving; concentric rings of dark basalt stamped with clearer circles chiselled in intricate relieves mirroring those represented on the length of the hall. A moth, an owl and a bear.

The design found echo in her memory and she pulled the claw from the leather satchel. On the back of the gold ornament, three circles of metal shined into the flickering light of the brazier, the same shapes in different orders.

Eliana frowned, casting a puzzled look upon the door. She traced the relief on the claw with her thumb and traced those on the stone rings with her other hand. A slight grinding sound of stone against stone broke the silence. She flinched and turned an alarmed glance towards the pillar before she realised the carving had caved under her palm. She tested the mechanism and turned the basalt ring from a third turn, revealing another carving on its perimeter. She pressed and turned the rings for a moment before she reached the correct combination, and encased the claw in the central depression where it clicked in place with a satisfying noise. She rotated the key in the keyhole and backed up several steps as a steady stream of dust leaked from between the rings and the door sank into the ground.

A ray of sunlight pierced through the darkness.

A relieved sob breaking on her lips, Eliana stepped into the wide cave.

Remnants of Nordic architecture were scattered around the gigantic chamber, a wall crumbled over a line of sarcophagus and vines taking their toll over bridges and pillars that once served to flaunt the grandeur of the cult, but that, thousands of years later, served only as a support for glowing mushrooms and a shelter for bats.

At the centre of the cavern ran a small river, a crumbled column spanning its width to a large dais atop of which stood, wreathed in the blazing light of the sunset, a gigantic curved wall.

The young woman stepped in closer, looking for an escape route up the cave walls and onto the tundra.

A sudden thrum in the air stopped her tracks. She stumbled and fell to her knees, her heartbeat sent in a frenzy and breath painfully stuck in her chest. She struggled against the overwhelming sensation, fire in her veins and air thicker than water in her lungs, a force greater than her will driving her forward, across the stream and up the ruined flight of stairs.

The light of the sun died, darkness once again shrouding her world as she walked into the shadow of the wall, a wide concave tablet carved in cuneiform writing covering most of its length. As she drew closer to the structure and the forms appeared more clearly, a light seemed to trace the inside of the signs, a faint glimmer at first, but soon, a faint whisper in the air joined it, pulsing in unison with every shift and variation in the brightness' intensity.

An instinct stronger than anything she had experienced before called upon her, a primal force awakening as her heartbeat echoed in deafening never-ending drums to her ears, a thirst for the sky and a lust for freedom, a burning desire to spread winds and roar to the stars.

A word echoed through her mind, carving itself in scorching letters on her soul. _Fus._

She blinked, stunned by the experience, and found herself once again on her knees. Her mind racing, her heart beating fast and hard against her ribcage, she barely heard the stone behind her crack before a deafening shriek shattered the air.

Up another flight of stairs, the basalt cover of an ornamented stone coffin slid with an earth-breaking noise. Eliana froze as a bony hand locked over the razor sharp edge and a scrawny figure clad in a long faded red shroud emerged from the casket. The draugr turned towards her, a glimmer shining behind the emotionless bronze mask covering its face.

“ _Hin lost meyz gut._ ” (You have come far.)

The guttural voice echoed loud as thunder in the cave.

The undead noiselessly floated down the dais, Eliana crawling back in fear as it approached and pointed a carven staff towards her solemnly.

“ _Zu'u Krosis. V_ _aat hin daal, sossediiv,_ _fah fen meyz dinoksetiid_ _. Krif voth ahkriin, kron fah hahdrim fah gaar suleyksesos._ ” (Prove yourself, dragon blood, for the end of time is near. Fight bravely and triumph wisely to unleash the power of your blood.)

The young woman straightened hesitantly, cautious of the draugr steady – if not threatening – approach, her gaze shifting from the richly clad figure to the last setting rays of sun filtering through an opening in the wall of the cave, nearby.

“ _Niid filok._ ”

She needn't speak the language the dead of old spoke to understand. There was no escape. Fear vanished, replaced with cold determination as yet another moment drew the shrouded figure nearer.

Flames ignited in her hand, she stood up to the dustman, a shift in its stance betraying his eagerness as he raised his staff in the ritual salute.

Eliana merely had time to register the glimmer shining at the tip of the carven shaft before a fireball exploded in the air.

Flames engulfed her, fended off by an ice aura, hail and snow melted on contact but the spell steadfast enough to shield her from the firestorm. She straightened with a start, conjuring a ward just in time to block another deadly firebolt, and retaliated with fury and ice. An ice spike dug through the draugr's chest, fending him off for a second if not in the slightest deterring him from his purpose. Eliana watched in consternation as the undead dismissively removed the frozen blade from his torso – dust instead of blood in its wake – and the ice shattered under his hand in thousands of shimmering shards. The undead looked up impassively, and raised both his arms with a start, conjuring a sturdy ward just as a tempest of fire stormed upon him, engulfing him into the blazing light. The flames subsided soon enough, leaving in their wake but darkness and emptiness. The intruder was nowhere to be seen.

Eliana melted into the shadows of the wall, her chest burning from the effort she made to keep her breathing slow and silent. Just out of reach of her hiding place, she could hear the sizzling of the undead's staff, the ragged breathing of its owner drawing dangerously close by the moment.

She bolted on instinct just in time to avoid a burst of flames and raised a wall of fire between her and her attacker in a desperate attempt to keep him at a distance. The draugr cloaked himself in the same ice aura she had first used and crossed the flaming barrier with ease, the tell-tale sound of sparks running through the staff sending a violent bolt of pain through her spine before the spell even touched her.

A loud crack at the back of her head made her see stars and the world spun uncontrollably as she struggled to draw herself farther from the deathly threat hovering over her. In one last ditch effort, she seized the staff's end and – when the draugr resisted against an attempt to tear his weapon from his grip – fenced upwards. Metal collided hard against the mask. A sickening sound of dried flesh crushed and a thin dust leaked from under the sharp edges of the carven visor. Strike by this vision, Eliana conjured yet another spell, a cloak of fire engulfing her and fending off her opponent enough to allow her to stand. She cast another spell, and another, unrelenting until she felt her magicka dangerously weaken and the huddled form of the undead had retreated up the dais and collapsed against the sarcophagus.

The mask fell to the ground with a clear sound, revealing behind a caved in face, ashes and embers running through the fibers that once were flesh and skin, yet a glimmer of consciousness still gleaming in the undead's empty orbits.

“ _Zu'u krosis._ ”, the guttural voice cracked. “ _Ahzid ahmiki, fah ni fen hon. Zu'u koraav hin balaani, dovahkrid. Kogaan, kiin se dov. Zu'u saraan kotin dinokjunaar hin kongrahi... uv Al-Du-In._ ” (Mine is a cruel task, one you won't understand yet. I judge you worthy, dragon slayer. My blessing be with you, child of the dragon. I will now await in the afterlife for your victory... or Alduin's.)

The light faded as fire inevitably won the battle against time.

Eliana cautiously approached, a cold dry wind whipping through the cave and dispersing ashes, leaving as reminder of her foe but his tattered armor and cerulean mask. She picked up the artifact carefully, the sharp edges digging in her flesh just shy of cutting, and respectfully replaced it in the open sarcophagus.

Where the head of the draugr had rested, a carven stone caught her attention. The tablet was made of the same obsidian material as the wall behind, a few lines of cuneiform writing spread on one side, an intricate design marked with dots and ridges on the other. A more careful observation allowed her to see it represented Skyrim, markings like constellation spread over the surface of the land, and an ornamented dragon hovering over the edge of the stone. The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I try to stick to the lore as much as I can, but I'd rather not keep things too linear (which is the reason why I'm even rewritting this in the first place), so things might diverge a lil bit from the game from time to time, to keep things as interesting as possible!  
> If a divergence confuses you, don't hesitate to ask me about it (it's mostly all sorted out already, so most times the only answer you'll get is "Spoilers.", but if I can, I'll explain ^^) and please let me know what you thought about the general thing! :)  
> Hope the translation in draconic are not too confusing (if there are no translation, fear not, it is somehow explicited somewhere in the following lines! be patient ;) )  
> And most of all, hope you enjoyed this journey through my most hated barrow of all times! :D  
> Stay tuned, and please review! ;)


	6. Freedom is but an illusion

_**Freedom is but an illusion - 18th of Last Seed - 4 E 201 – Whiterun - Dragonsreach**_  
Eliana climbed the stairs to Dragonsreach, her steps loud and uncertain against the pavement, the dragonstone in her bag feeling heavier with each passing moment.  
The exploration of the ancient ruin and the fighting had left her bruised and battered. Her muscles burned from exertion and her mind was clouded with exhaustion. The strange phenomenon engulfed her when she found this high black wall in the barrows had left her on the verge of unconsciousness, yet her senses sharp as ever and alert. The cuneiform writing carved in the dark stone looked unlike anything she had ever seen in her life, yet somehow very familiar, like dreaming of a long faded dream. Fus. The unknown word echoed still in her heart, leaving her shaken to her very core. She barely remembered how she extricated herself from the depths of the tomb and crossed the tundra under the early night's sky to reach the city gates. The warmth of the brazier had replaced the chill of the plain and soon enough, the high wooden doors of Dragonsreach let through the comforting scent of pine and fire, adrenaline leaving her veins and fatigue finally allowed to wash over her.  
"You see, the terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier."  
She heard the court mage's voice from down the hall.  
"I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text.”, he pointed expertly. “Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts."  
"Good.", a woman's voice responded. "I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."  
"Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."  
"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget.”, the woman opposed sharply. “This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."  
"Yes, yes.”, the wizard concurred. “Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable… Now, let me show you something else I found... very intriguing. I think your employers may be interested as well."  
"You have a visitor.", the woman paused, staring at the girl standing in the door frame, not daring to interrupt.  
"Hmm? Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé!", Farengar greeted, crossing the length of his office to meet Eliana half-way through. "Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."  
"It seems…", the young woman answered darkly. "I found your draconic artifact."  
"Ah… the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow!", the mage breathed, a glimmer of excitement enlightening his eyes as the girl pulled the stone from her satchel. “So your information was correct after all.”, he said, turning to his contact. “And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.”  
The woman turned from the mage to the girl, the appreciative look on her face not completely lost in the shadow of her cowl.  
“You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?”, the shadowy woman asked. “Nice work!”  
“Yes, you are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me.", Farengar offered with a grateful smile.  
“Thanks.”, Eliana breathed. “Mind telling me what all this had to do with the dragons, in the first place?”  
“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, nor clueless commoner, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?”, the mage chuckled, a hint of interest in his voice. “You see, when these stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumours or drunken's tales. Impossibilities! One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible.”, he quoted, noting the smile forming on the young woman's lips. “But some people seemed to take this matter most seriously”, he added, motioning to the shadowy figure standing next to the pillar close to him, “and I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from? You got me the Dragonstone. That is where your job ends and mine can really begin. The work of the mind, sadly undervalued in Skyrim."  
The young woman gave a short nod. "If you don't need me, then, may I take my leave?"  
"You may."  
The young woman bowed curtly to the two of them and headed out, only to stop on the threshold of the lab.  
“Forgive me... I, uh, found something at Bleak Falls Barrow... In the main chamber.”  
“Yes?”, the woman asked, a sudden edge in her voice. “What did you find?”  
“A wall... a tall black wall, with carvings... and it... whispered...”, she breathed, realizing as she spoke how crazy her story might sound.  
The mage motioned her to approach. “What kind of carvings... ancient Nord, deadric runes?”  
“Ancient Nord... a long text with a few words enlightened... and...” She swallowed the words and let out a sigh. “Nevermind... It must be the fatigue...”, she smiled weakly.  
“Have you heard voices since, hallucinations?”, the courtmage asked, giving her a quick examination, “Received a hit on the head, got bit by an animal or wounded with a poisoned blade?”  
“No, nothing of sorts... But it happened only seconds before the guardian of the Dragonstone awoke, so... I guess it must have been some detection spell meant to relive the draugr or simply my mind playing tricks on me.”  
The hooded woman said nothing during the whole ordeal, her frown darkening with every passing moment, then suddenly rose from her slouched position against a pillar.  
“Farengar. Let the girl get some sleep, she deserves it.”  
“Of course. Here, take these few coins and get yourself a room at the Bannered Mare.” He then turned to his contact. “I will send you a copy of the stone when I've deciphered it.”

_**18th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun – The Bannered Mare**_  
Eliana left Dragonsreach with uncertain footings, and headed down to the Plains District to rest at the inn. She counted the fee Farengar had paid her for her adventure and hoped it would be enough to afford a good night's rest and a warm meal on the morning.  
The warm light of the inn seeped through the door, beckoning her inside before the voice of the innkeeper did.  
"Welcome, welcome.”, the red-haired bartender offered, a sleepy smile on her face. “Please, take a seat. We have food, mead, and warm beds upstairs. If there's anything you want, just let me know."  
"I would like to stay for the night.", Eliana answered, not even daring to sit on one of the bar's stool in fear she'd just fall asleep.  
"That will be ten septim, love."  
The girl took her purse and left ten gold coins on the bar.  
"I will show you to your room.", Hulda said. "Saadia! Take care of the bar for a while, will you?"  
A Redguard woman went out of the kitchen and took the innkeeper's place behind the bar as Hulda escorted the new patron upstairs, where a large chamber with a double bed awaited her.  
"Make yourself at home, and if you need anything else, just let me or Saadia know."  
"Thank you."  
The innkeeper bowed slightly and closed the door behind her, leaving the young woman alone with herself.  
Eliana slowly undressed herself, the ache stirring in her limbs painfully reminding her of the events of the few days before, and collapsed more than she sat on the edge of the bed. Drawing her knees to her chest and the sheets over her shoulders, she curled in bed and struggled with the memories that assaulted her behind her closed lids.  
So much had happened today and she just had no time to register. Now, alone in the dark stillness of her room, she suddenly came aware of the insecurity of her situation. She had been taken away from her home two days ago but it felt like a lifetime had passed. She had been through much more these past few days than in the twenty previous years. Accusation, arrest, interrogation, execution, escape, exploration… Her quiet life of alchemist was sure over… And now, she didn't know what to do with her life. Everything she had planned seemed unachievable. She would never see her home, her garden, the woods where she grew up, ever again.  
Muffling her sobs into the pillow, she wiped her tears and turned to look at the dance of the lone candle flickering on the end-table, an intricate game of lights and shadows giving life to thoughts of the future.  
Maybe she could try to settle down in Whiterun.  
People here didn't seem terrified by magic. The jarl used the services of a courtmage, who claimed the privilege of residing in the Palace itself. An alchemist had his shop on the marketplace, just in front the inn, maybe she could work there for a while, just for the time being, and hope her past would never catch up with her.  
She didn't realize she had drifted into slumber until the first rays of sunlight beaming through the straw roof woke her up.

_**19th of Last Seed - 4 E 201 - Whiterun**_  
Her body still sore from the day before, she straightened and noticed a pitcher of water that wasn't there last night, on the table beside the bed.  
She drank, basking in the feeling of cold water in her dry throat, and washed her face before she went down to the main hall.  
"Slept well?", Hulda the innkeeper asked as soon as she arrived downstairs.  
"Yes, thank you.”, Eliana answered, her voice croaking. “What time is it?"  
"Around eight o'clock… But what you really should ask is what day it is."  
"What day...”  
"You slept for two days straight, love.”, the woman behind the bar stated with an apologetic smile.  
"I'm sorry! I…"  
She looked in her bag for a while and paid the innkeeper.  
"Ten septim a night, is it? I am sorry, so, so sorry for the trouble!"  
"You caused no trouble at all. There aren't many clients these days… But I almost feared you had brought a bear in there with you, with all that snoring!"  
Eliana chuckled nervously, at the innkeeper's attempt to diffuse the tension.  
"Anyway, if you're short on money, you can still chop me some wood for the fire, or help in the kitchen if you have any talent for cooking... and I think Severio Pelagia is looking for someone to help for the winter crop, if you're planning for a longer stay."  
"Thank you."  
"Don't mention it. The news spread fast as the wind in our town, I've heard you helped the court mage, so the least we can do is help you in return. Here's the axe! The chopping block is just behind the inn, Saadia will show you."  
The Redguard woman led Eliana outside without a word. The girl could feel the inn worker didn't like her for a reason but she would much likely try and ignore it and just be happy about the chance Hulda was giving her.  
She placed a log on the chopping block and let the ax fall. The wood cracked in half with a familiar and comforting sound. Log after log, she piled wood on top of the one already cut behind the inn and wiped the sweat off her forehead.  
A deafening roar rang in the valley.  
Eliana looked at the sky with a start but saw nothing. She shook her head, hoping she was just imagining things, and gathered a few logs to bring inside.  
As she circled the inn, a guard in ochre armour raced up the marketplace and climbed four by four the steps leading to Dragonsreach. She dismissed the uncomfortable feeling that stirred in her at the alarmed glance people threw in the soldier's wake and resumed with her task. She had just left the wood behind the bar and added two logs to the fire when a yellow-clad guard came crashing the doors open.  
“Ma'm Hulda.”, he saluted the innkeeper with a sharp nod, before he turned to the young woman by the fire. "You're the one the jarl sent to Bleak Falls Barrow?”, he questioned. “The jarl requests to see you, miss.", he added, when the girl nodded. "There's been an incident… your expertise is needed."  
"My exper-…"  
"No time for questions, miss!", the guard cut. "Follow me, please."  
Eliana and Hulda exchanged a glance and the girl reluctantly followed the guard up to Dragonsreach.  
The comfortable feeling she had felt upon entering the palace the night before was swept away in cold anguish as the guard led her past the throne-room and up a flight of stairs, to a long hall where the whole court was already waiting for her.  
"There is no time to stand on ceremony, my friend.”, the jarl swiftly interrupted before she could properly bow. “I need your help again. A dragon has been seen in the hold. It appears to be circling above the Western Watchtower. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this beast."  
The young woman exchanged a glance with the housecarl and paled.  
"I am no warrior, my jarl.”, she opposed. “I'm afraid I might be more of an impediment than any any help out there."  
"You survived Helgen", Balgruuf stated. "You have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. Whatever guidance you can provide, we'll need it."  
Eliana thought better than to discuss his orders; the jarl of Whiterun was not known for his patience. The only experience she had about dragons was more of a deadly game of hide and seek – one she barely escaped with her skin intact – than a real battle, but it appeared she had no choice but to face the beast once more. But then again, if the creature was lurking so close from the city, there likely was nowhere in Whiterun safe from its wrath.  
She nodded numbly, the weight of the jarl's misplaced trust heavy on her shoulders as he turned back to his housecarl.  
"One last thing, Irileth.”, the jarl called out. “This isn't a 'death or glory' mission. I need to know what I am dealing with…"  
"Don't worry, my lord.", the dark womer answered. "I'm the very soul of caution."  
Eliana bowed shortly to the jarl and wordlessly followed the dunmer out of the palace and down the hill to the main gates where a troop of fifteen men had already gathered. She listened to the dunmer's speech to the soldiers without hearing it. The world around her was just a blur: fear and excitation spread in her veins like a white hot fire.  
The same fire that now devoured the West Watchtower...  
"Spread out!", Irileth ordered, unsheathing her sword and casting cautious looks around. "And look for survivors! We need to know what happened here!"  
The Watchtower was in ruins. Huge block of stones had been torn from the roof and high walls, and now lay scattered around the building. The yellowed grass was burnt to the earth, the ground covered in white hot ashes and scorched corpses. There was not a living soul in sight...  
"No! Get back!", an alarmed voice warned from the inside of the tower.  
A soldier in ochre coat and burnt leathers cautiously slithered through the stone arch, motioning the others to get low. "It's still here, somewhere!"  
“Calm yourself, soldier.”, Irileth, ordered softly. “Tell us what happened here. Where are the rest of the men.”  
The guard couldn't find time to answer as a roar rang in the valley.  
"Gods save us!”, he breathed, all colour drenched from his face. “Here it comes again!"  
A winged shadow, dark as thunderclouds and wide as a storm came flying above Bleak Falls Barrow and swept to their side of the valley.  
The girl watched in awe and frozen fear as the dragon approached. Irileth elbowed her hard, bringing her back to her senses, and pushed her towards the open tower.  
"Take cover!", she barked to her men. “Make every arrow count!"  
" ** _Krif krin, joore_**. (fight bravely, mortals)", a deafening low voice said. Eliana gasped when she realized it was the dragon's.  
The beast took a deep breath as it swept on the desolated plain and shouted.  
" _ **YOL TOOR SHUL!**_ "  
A fire storm rushed towards the tower. Eliana stormed inside and backed herself against the wall. She could feel the heat of the dragon's breath engulfing her briefly before it faded in the tundra wind. Trembling in fear, she couldn't bring herself to move. This dragon was not the one from Helgen, she noticed – it was paler, a silvery shade of bronze, and leaner – but his fire burned just as much. Outside, the battle was raging; Eliana could hear Irileth's voice ordering her men to keep fighting, defend the city at all costs.  
A loud noise shook the tower and stones fell from the ceiling. Eliana dodged and found herself outside once more. The dragon had landed on top of the tower. Its eyes fell upon the girl and the shadow of a snarl barred its maw.  
" _ **Nikriin**_ …" (Coward...), it breathed. "Dare to hide from me… _**Krif, sahlo joor!**_ ” (Fight, weak mortal!)"  
The dragon took a deep breath and shouted again.  
Eliana curled in a ball and cast a protecting shield above her. The fire broke on the barrier like water on a cliff and the dragon furiously took his flight. Surprised to see her ward hold still, Eliana rose up to her feet, the thrill of battle rushing through her veins like a white-hot fire.  
The girl summoned ice in her right palm, keeping her shield in left hand and aimed at the dragon circling the tower.  
An ice shard hit it below its left wing. The dragon wavered and landed.  
"You fight at least.", it said. "You are brave. **_Balaan hokoron_**. (Worthy enemy.) Your defeat will bring me honour. _**FO KRAH DIIN**_!"  
The girl raised her shield too late. Ice engulfed her, the frost burning painfully, but the blood of the North thick enough in her veins to endure the hail storm. She roused herself from her huddled position and shook the thick layer of ice forming on her body before she retaliated with both fire and ice.  
" _ **Paalok joor!**_ (arrogant mortal!)", the dragon growled.  
Eliana threw herself back to avoid a bite. The massive jaws missed, but only just. The girl rolled off the wall where she was standing and fell painfully to the ground.  
The earth quaked as the dragon skirted the stone wall and laid a dangerous look on the mortal at his mercy. The girl looked frantically around her as the beast's gigantic wing pinned her to the ground.  
" _ **Alduin du hin sil ko Sovngarde. Dar zin kos dii, ko Keizaal.**_ (Alduin will devour your soul in Sovngarde. But this privilege is mine, here.)"  
Her hand found the hilt of a sword. She desperately grabbed the weapon and hit.  
The dragon released her, more likely to tease than from real pain.  
The girl stood her ground, her grip firm on the weapon in her hand and attacked again. The dragon gave a low chuckle and whipped a blow of his wing that sent her crashing against a wall.  
“ ** _Dir voth akrin, sahlo dovahkiin_**.” (Die with some courage, weak dovahkiin.)  
The dragon straightened and took a deep breath.  
No! Not like this!  
She got up and desperately ran to her foe, plunging her sword between two dislodged scales. The blade pieced through the flesh and dug all the way to the hilt in its chest.  
" ** _Dovahkiin_**!", the dragon cried in a strangled voice. "NOOOOooooo!"  
Eliana bolted back as the dragon's body tensed taut, his wings spreading and his neck bending back as its jaw fell open in a silent roar, then fell limp on the ground, with an earth shattering force.  
Her breathing sharp and shallow, she stared blankly as the surviving soldiers hesitantly approached and surrounded the motionless carcass in disbelief.  
“Is it... really dead?”  
A gust of hot dry wind answered the question. A light emerged from between the beast's scales, embers running along the wounds and slashes that marred the beast's form, a mystical fire consuming the drake from the inside. The warmthless flames engulfed the young dragonslayer and endless waves of light surged from the beast right through her chest, piercing right through her heart before they faded, leaving in their wake only the dragon's skeleton. The young woman fell to her knees, her limbs weak and shaking, her hands tainted with thick red blood and her soul grief stricken.  
"I can't believe it...", said a bewildered voice nearby, snapping her back to reality. "You are… You are dragonborn!"  
"Dragonborn?", Eliana croaked, her voice weak from a sob she didn't know she held back. "What do you mean?"  
"In the very oldest tales…”, the guard explained, removing his helmet to wipe the sweat off his brow and get a proper look at the young woman, “Back when there was still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborns would slay dragons and steal their powers. That's what you did.", he stated in awe. "Absorb the dragon's power."  
"I don't know…", the young woman replied under her breath. “I don't understand what happened...”  
"There's only one way to find out…", the guard said. "Try to Shout."  
The young woman hesitated a moment, then a word formed in the back of her mind, her breath swelled in her chest, beckoning her to voice the power building within her.  
“ ** _FUS_**!”

_**19th of Last Seed - 4 E 201 - Throat of the World**_  
Paarthurnax stirred from his meditation as the Shout rang through the air, the soul of Mirmulnuir faded from Nirn and another shone brighter, bending in its wake the flows of the Currents of Time.  
"So the day has come…”, the old sage purred. “Pruzah…"  
The master of the Greybeards shook the snow from his prone form and sucked in a deep breath to call for his four disciples.  
Arngeir, Bori, Einarth and Wulfgar gathered at the summit of the Monastery, each facing a different direction while Paarthurnax faced the skies.  
The word shattered the air with the might of their five voices combined.  
"DO-VAH-KIIN!"

**_19th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun - Dragonsreach_**  
The word rumbled through the world, echoed through the sky and in time itself.  
Every living soul in Nirn heard their voice as they called in unison for their saviour.  
Balgruff was shaken from his throne, Proventus bent to his knees, Farengar tried and failed to keep his books from falling from their shelf as the sound like thunder shook the bones of the earth.  
The earthquake stopped as abruptly as it began, leaving the world in a dazed state for a long while before it could resume on turning.  
Hrongar sheathed the greatsword he had pulled in panic and helped his brother on his feet while servants rushed from the kitchen to tidy up the mess and revive the hearth.  
Balgruuf sat straight on his throne, deep in thought. After centuries of silence, the Greybeards were calling. Could it mean... ?

**_19th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun Hold_**  
Eliana had been sent to the ground by the force of the Shout, so much more powerful than her own. Bent to her knees, she gazed up the high mountain known as the Throat of the World, where black clouds had started gathering.  
It couldn't be… The Greybeards summoning the dovahkiin, merely minutes after she slayed a dragon, and used the Voice as only the Tongues could…  
No! She refused to believe it. She denied it with all her heart when the guards bowed to her in respect and bestowed that title on her. She was not a heroine. She was the half-elven alchemist of Falkreath... She was neither brave, nor gifted, nor worth any attention from the Gods. She couldn't be the one they called. Yet… the dragon, in his dying words, had called her dovahkiin…  
She collected her thoughts and headed to Dragonsreach to report to the jarl.

**_19th of Last Seed – 4 E 201 – Whiterun - Dragonsreach_**  
Proventus Avenicci, the jarl's steward, welcame her upon her arrival.  
"Good! You're finally here! The jarl's been waiting for your return."  
Eliana slowly climbed the stairs behind him. The fight, the whirls of light passing through her and the shout had drained her of all her energy. She couldn't help but notice the mess around the room as she walked up to the throne. Flagons and plates had been shaken off the tables, books fell from the shelves and all the efforts of the courtmage to clean his lab had been in vain. The girl walked that aisle for what seemed an eternity before she bowed in front of Balgruuf.  
"So what happened on the watchtower?", the jarl asked. "Was the dragon there?"  
"The watchtower was destroyed when we reached it, my jarl, the troop garrisoned there was nowhere to be found. The dragon returned shortly after our arrival and attacked us, but we managed to bring it down.”  
"So those beasts can be killed.”, he sighed with relief. “But there must be more.", he muttered to himself. "Something… strange happened when the dragon died?"  
The girl paled and nodded weakly.  
"When… when the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it…"  
"So it's true!", Balgruff breathed, straightening with a start. "The Greybeards were calling you!"  
Eliana blinked.  
"I don't understand what happened, Jarl Balgruuf. I don't even know what the Greybeards could want with me."  
"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice.", the jarl explained, "The ability to focus you vital essence into a Thu'um… If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.”  
"The thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun…", the jarl's brother added. That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar. This hasn't happened in… centuries at least…"  
"Since Talos of Atmora…", the girl whispered.  
"Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you… You heard the summons.", Balgruff added. "There's no refusing a summons of the Greybeards… But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me and my city. As a token of my esteem and by my right as jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun."  
Eliana chocked on her breath. Thane… the highest honor that's within a jarl's power to grant to someone.  
"Avenicci will make the arrangement for a house to be provided to you upon your return from High Hrothgar. Breezehome should do…"  
"I… I can't accept, my jarl."  
"Of course you can!", he snapped. "Now, you better head up to High Hrothgar immediately, learn what the Greybeards can teach you. And know you will always be welcome back here. I envy you, you know…", he added, sadness laced in his voice. "To climb the seven thousand steps again… I've made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very… disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder if the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here…"  
He sighed and turned to his steward.  
"Back to business, Proventus! We still have a city to defend!"


End file.
